Bradley's Brain

Wow...

2012-02-19T20:44:00.000-05:00

I'm still here...I promise.

I've had several issues--mostly computer-related--that have kept me away, but I promise I'm still around, still laughing, crying, living and breathing.

I'll get you caught up on things when I have a chance to sit down a bit longer, but suffice to say that Hunter and Blake have kept me busy, happy, angry, joyful, frustrated, etc...

In other words, they've kept me alive, just like they always have.

I'll be around more, both here and at Second Star to the Right, so I hope you'll start checking back in with me again.

See you soon.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

More Halloween Goodness...

2011-10-09T20:45:00.002-04:00

Just to let you know, there's a heapin' helpin' of Frankenstein's Monster over at Second Star to the Right!

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Look Over There!

2011-10-03T22:10:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to let you know that the second of my Halloween Offerings is up at Second Star to the Right.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Meanwhile, back at Second Star to the Right...

2011-10-01T15:31:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to let you know that the first of my "Halloween Offerings" is up at Second Star to the Right, and I hope you'll take a look at my "Wake-up Call".

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Your Attention Please...

2011-09-30T19:46:00.000-04:00

*Ahem ahem*

I hope you'll join me for a very special announcement at Second Star to the Right.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Where Mashed Potatoes Come From...

2011-09-20T20:19:00.000-04:00

We talk about food a lot in my house.

It's something that's very important to us, considering that Blake's first word to me after I pick him up from school is "Eat."

"You can have a snack as soon as we get home, buddy."

"Eat."

You can see what I mean.

This evening on the way to scouts, we discussed something else near and dear to us, also related to food: teeth.

Hunter informed me that people have sharp teeth to eat meat, and flat teeth to eat plants, like corn, broccoli, and peas.

This is where Blake entered the conversation, and those of you who regularly read my blog know that this almost always leads to something amusing.

"Don't forget mashed potatoes," he said. "But we don't have to chew mashed potatoes. 'Cause they're already chewed. By God.

And God doesn't have any germs."

What do you say to this?

The only thing I could think of was "You're right...God doesn't have any germs."

Of course, Hunter wondered why I was laughing so hard and reminded me to "watch the road, Man! Stop laughing and drive before we die!"

I hope to someday understand where Blake's ideas come from, because it's certainly more entertaining than the facts.

I truly love my kids, and cherish the smiles they bring me.

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Cheese, George Washington, And Not Much In Between...

2011-07-31T14:36:00.001-04:00

You know from previous posts that my children say and do some pretty strange things. I don't mind; it gives me great amusement, something to post about, and it also gives me great fodder--along with pictures of Blake riding his scooter through the house buck naked on his way to take a bath--that I will use in the future to mortify them in front of girls they bring home.

The other night we were on our way home from church, and the topic of conversation turned, as it usually does, to cheese.

Despite the fact that cheese is basically milk that sat around so long it turned solid, we like cheese a great deal, and talk about it often.

Yes, now that you mention it, I do lead a very sad existence. But anywho...

From the back seat of the car, Blake asks me, "Daddy, is cheese good for you?"

"Well," says I, "It can be, but like everything else, if you eat too much of it, it can be bad for you."

Blake, ever one to apply his new knowledge to everyday life, says "So if George Washington ate ten thousand pounds of cheese, he'd be really sick."

It took a moment for me to process this statement, but I eventually replied, "George Washington is dead."

"Oh," says Blake. "How much cheese did he eat?"

I have to admit that I'm stumped by this one.

I am mystified (and more than a little entertained) by how a child's mind can come up with the notion that cheese is almost certainly what killed our first president.

You can see why I remain consistently and constantly amused.

And perplexed.

Now I'm wondering when I'll have to field a similar question about yogurt...
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Double-Digits...

2011-07-27T12:29:00.000-04:00

Today is a very special day, for me, for the world in general, and for one very outstanding young man in particular:

Today, Hunter turns 10.


Yeah, he knows he's cool...

I could joke about how the time flies. I could make cracks about how I'm not old enough to have a 10-yr-old son.

But I think instead that I'll just talk about him.

Ten years ago today, he brought a joy and love into my life that I never even knew I was missing.

I can't begin to describe how proud I am of him, of his gentleness, his intelligence, his creativity...his just in general coolness.

Since he came into the world, he's been my inspiration. My inspiration to do better. To be better.

I nearly lost him once, and honestly don't think I could have made it without him.

I love both of my children very much. I love them both differently, but equally.

But Hunter will always be my firstborn.

Ten years doesn't seem like a very long time, and yet I can't remember a time without him.

Truthfully, I don't really want to.

Happy birthday, Hunter.

I love you.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Praying for October...

2011-07-11T15:48:00.000-04:00

Let me begin by making one thing perfectly clear:

I hate summer.

To paraphrase Frankenstein's Monster, "Summer BAD!!!!"

When it's cooler to stand in the blistering sunlight than it is to drive a car, it's too hot.

When you pop into a sweat when reaching for the TV remote, despite the fact that you're sitting inside, right under the A/C vent (to quote an old friend of mine, "I don't remember signing up for that"), it's too hot.

When opening the front door causes you to a.) lose the will to live, and b.) not care that you've lost the will to live, it's too hot.

It has come to my attention that there are a lot of people who like this kind of weather. I would like to say (and I really do say this with the utmost respect) that you are all crazy.

I realize that being slightly overweight (read: fat) and hairy (ironically, the only place I can't grow hair is the top of my head) has something to do with this, but even without the extra insulation (blubber) and fur coat (I sometimes look in the mirror and think my brain has been transplanted into the body of a silverback gorilla...or possibly a Sasquatch), I just plain don't like heat.

My own personal temperature comfort zone is something like this:

0-35: A bit chilly. Probably ought to wear a jacket.
36-75: Perfect. Break out the shorts and Hawaiian shirts.
76 and up: Unholy.

Yes, the temp zone where I'm most comfortable is rather large, but it should be pointed out that we spend relatively little time in that comfort zone. Where I live, we seem to go from "so cold that Titanic-killing icebergs are in the front yard" to "quite honestly, the surface of the sun would be more comfortable" overnight.

That being said, it doesn't help matters any that I am constantly accosted by people who, while seeing by the redness of my face that I am clearly about to explode, feel the need to ask "Is it hot enough for ya?"

This is not amusing.

I usually manage a weak chuckle (it's too hot to fake laughter) and say something like "Yeah, pretty hot, ain't it?" when what I really want to say is "Well, no, I really like it when my face begins to melt and slide away from my skull. I really wish it were about a hundred degrees hotter, with ten thousand percent humidity, so I can really start enjoying the great outdoors! Now, give me your phone number, because during the winter, I'm going to call you every single day and ask 'Is it cold enough for you, you heat-loving weirdo? I have all the windows open at home so I can bask in this lovely breeze...'".

Clearly, I'll survive. I have every year so far, and usually without bursting into flames.

I just feel the need to rant a bit, because I'm so darn miserable during this time of year that I do in fact spend a great deal of time praying for October to get here (by the way, I think that "Praying For October" would be a great name for a band).

In closing, I'd just like to ask that if any of you find me passed out from heat exhaustion after the effort of taking the trash out to the curb, please roll me over so I can at least get an even tan.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Real Men Wear Pink

2011-06-23T16:40:00.002-04:00

A couple of weeks ago, we had our annual Vacation Bible School (VBS) at my church.

Every year, I issue a challenge to the kids: get a certain number of kids registered, and I'll do something that most grown-ups really wouldn't consider doing.

You see, I was born without the ability to feel embarrassment when it comes to entertaining children. If it makes kids laugh, I'm good with it. If it challenges them to achieve something worthwhile in the process, all the better.

Usually, I shave my head. That's always worked well (and hey, it's summer--too hot for hair anyway), but it's become a bit...expected. The novelty wears off when it becomes institution.

Last year, I did something a little different: I got a green mohawk.

This year, we kept with the mohawk theme, but decided to up the ante: if the kids met the goal we set for them, I'd get a pink mohawk.

The kids stepped up, over-shot the goal by about forty, and so I present my documentation of the what-would-be-mortifying-for-most-other-people-but-not-me process of the Pink 'Hawk.

We learned last year that my hair is too dark for most color to show up, so this year, we did it right, and I became a blonde first. The darker part of my beard shows you what color most of my hair was:

Silver and Gold...

Wow! I'm already havin' more fun!!!

Then out came the razor, followed by the cheapest, gaudiest pink hair spray I could find:

I pity da foo...you know, in a pink, cotton candy way...

Yes, Blake. Daddy's a weirdo...

A thorough washing led to:

Bringing the "Popples" look back from the 80's...

Which of course led to the final phase of the project (remember, I never promised I'd keep the pink mohawk):

Insert "Three Stooges" joke here...

So there you have it. I debased myself, the kids laughed themselves silly, and now my head is smooth and refreshingly cool.

I have no idea how to top this next year.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go tan my head...
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Second Star, Dragon-y Goodness

2011-06-21T11:46:00.000-04:00

For those of you who don't follow Second Star to the Right, please check it out. I've got a new post up, with a pic of a wood-burning project I'm doing for my son, Hunter.

And check back here later for a post about my journey from "salt-and-pepper, receding hairline guy" to "pink mohawk guy" (yes, you read that right), to "bald guy".

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Pondering Life's Mysteries...

2011-05-10T20:31:00.001-04:00

I ponder things.

Sometimes I tackle the big ones, like "Why are we here?" or to get deep about it, "Where is here, really?".

Sometimes I get really intense, focusing on things like "If a tree falls on a mime, does he make a sound, or, more importantly, does anyone care?"

If you're a mime, go ahead and yell at me from inside your little invisible box; I won't hear you.

But there is one issue that I have pondered since I was a child, one to which I have never received a satisfactory answer, and one that was brought back to the front of my mind (such as it is) this evening as I gave the boys their dessert:

Just what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks flavor of ice cream is Superman?!?

I mean, I understand the coloring: red, blue, and yellow, same as Superman's costume. That makes sense, and the colors are very obvious.

But what flavor is it????

What flavor is it??????

The name "Superman" is uselessly non-descriptive flavor-wise! I mean, yes, the word conjures up heart-warming images of truth, justice and the American way, but it doesn't say "tasty".

And tasting it to determine the flavor doesn't help in the least; it's totally unidentifiable. As a matter of fact, the only description I can come up with for it is "not chocolate".

Or maybe "not vanilla".

I don't know; one of those two.

Asking the clerk serving the brightly-colored concoction at the local Dapper Dan's does no good either. All I've ever gotten in response to this question, which I've been asking since I was five years old, is a glassy-eyed stare along with "Did you want one or two scoops?"

When I get to Heaven, I think this will be the second thing I ask God, right behind "What's up with the platypus?"

This is why I don't eat Superman ice cream that often anymore.

It angries up the blood...
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Monty Python, Where Are You When I Need You?

2011-05-04T19:46:00.000-04:00

Monday evening, Blake and I were waiting for Hunter to get done with his karate class.

Normally, we go and play on the playground, or watch one of the Little League games going on behind the school, but we've had about two days this past month that it hasn't rained. Monday wasn't one of them, so we sat in the car.

Blake was looking at one of Hunter's books, a rather largish text-book-sized tome about building things with macaroni and straws and stuff.

Then he said (and those of you who know Blake can probably hear the exact tone of voice he used), "I'm gonna hit myself in the head."

"Buddy," I said. "That's probably not a very good idea; that's a very big book."

Well, that's what I was going to say. Actually, what I said was, "Buddy..."

THWACK!!!!

"Ooo," said Blake. "This is a big book."

THWACK!!!!

"Hee-hee-hee!"

THWACK!!!!

Then he says ( I swear I'm not making this up):

"Mmmm...wordy..."

The only thing keeping this from being a Python movie is that there was no Gregorian chant preceding the "THWACK".

You can imagine how proud I am.

Also, how mystified.

But hey, at least he's enjoying books...

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Hunter-isms...

2011-04-22T17:54:00.001-04:00

Just the other day I was going around the house, gathering up clothes for the wash (the clothes hamper apparently has ninja-like invisibility; that's the only way I can account for the boys never seeming to find it). I noticed that Hunter had already taken off his socks, so I asked about them.

"Hunter, where did you put your socks when you took them off?"

Hunter looked at me for a moment, then looked thoughtfully into the distance, then looked back to me and said, "Dad, I regret to inform you that I don't remember where I put my socks."

At least he regretted it.

This reminded me of once when Hunter was just a little bit over three years old.

We were at my mother's house, and Hunter was doing something he wasn't supposed to be doing (I can't remember what it was), and his mother told him several times to stop. Being three, and master of his own destiny, Hunter just kept doing whatever it was.

"Hunter," I said. "What did your mother just tell you to do?"

Hunter looked at me. Looked at his mother. Looked at my mother.

Then he looked away, closed his eyes, crossed his arms and said, "I'm not taking any questions right now."

These two statements, made years apart, tell me that Hunter is a natural-born wordsmith, whose gift will one day bring joy to many people, which will bring tears of joy to my eyes.

Or, he's a natural-born politician, which would bring tears of a completely different kind.

Either way, I think the world is in for something.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Open Wide...

2011-04-01T19:05:00.001-04:00

I picked up the boys from their mother this morning to take them to school.

Nothing special there; I do it every day.

This morning, after we got into the line of cars waiting for the doors to open and shut the car off (greenhouse gasses bad, continuing to live good), Hunter dropped down the sunvisor, opened the mirror, and began to stare into his mouth.

"Hunter," I asked, as any responsible and confused parent would. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, Dad. I just like to stare at my uvula."

I'm continually impressed by the randomness of my son's fascinations.

Plus, since I still think of the uvula as "the hangy-down thing in the back of your throat", he's already proven that he's smarter than me.

At least he wasn't staring up his own nose.

Or mine.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Superstars!

2011-03-22T20:10:00.001-04:00

Welcome to a very special edition of Bradley's Brain!

This past Friday, both of my sons participated in the talent show at their school.

Of course I recorded it (some day when they're both rich and famous, everyone can say "This is where it all started"), and have now gotten around my technological incompatibilities and figured out how to get the videos on this "You-tube" thing all the kids are so crazy about these days.

Without further ado, may I present the talented youth of Clan Leslie:

First up is Blake, who performed in a Mexican Hat Dance with a few other kids from his kindergarten class. Blake is the one that starts out in the very back on the left:

Next up is Hunter, who sang "Weird Al" Yankovic's Since You've Been Gone.
I have to admit that when he said he wanted to sing in the talent show, I said, "Okay, Buddy, that sounds cool." When he told me he wanted to sing a "Weird Al" song, I got a little teary-eyed and said, "That's my boy..."

Keep in mind, he's nine, this was his first ever solo act on stage, and he was very nervous. Even though it can sometimes be a bit difficult to hear him over Al's vocals, I think he did a fantastic job.

So there you have it; the first stop on Hunter and Blake's journey to stardom.

Just in case you can't tell, I'm insanely proud of both of them.

They have always been, and always will be, my Superstars.

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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

The "F" Word...

2011-03-13T16:40:00.002-04:00

No, not fahrfegnugen.

Today, I arrive at the "f" word. The big four-oh.

Yep, that's right: today, I'm forty years old.

Holy.

Freakin'.

Crow.

When did this happen?!? How?!?

I mean, one day, I'm eighteen, graduating high school, and the future is laid out in front of me, a wide-open buffet of years and experiences, and then all of a sudden, I'm a forty-year-old single dad whose buffet has shrunk down to a plate of that blue jell-o they serve in senior cafeterias.

I hate blue jell-o!

All day, folks have been reminding me that forty is just a number. That forty is the new thirty. That you're only as old as you feel.

Well that's all fine and good, but there's one bit of crucial information that makes this a bit different:

This is ME we're talkin' about here!

Forty is just another number when it's someone else. When I turn forty, it's a bit more cataclysmic.

Forty is the new thirty? A rose by any other name...

As old as I feel?

I'm doomed.

Then again, on the other hand, turning forty isn't so bad.

When you get right down to it, the number forty, when applied to birthdays, means "not dead".

I'm ok with this.

I've had forty years worth of experiences--some good, some not so much--that make me who I am today.

And who I am is a man who wants another forty years or more.

Who I am is a man who loves his children more than anything else in the world, and wants to be around long enough to see them have kids.

So, happy birthday to me, and I'll take many more, if I can get 'em.

Plus, as long as I can get my aging fingers around a fork, I get to eat carrot cake today, which is...precious...to me.

My Precious...

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Forty-year-old Brad

The Day Spidey Moved In...

2011-03-08T18:57:00.000-05:00

This past Saturday was a chilly, rainy, dreary day here in Louisville.

I had the boys for the weekend, and since our trip to the park didn't happen, we were pretty much inside all day.

In the early afternoon, while the kids were being themselves---which of course means fighting, arguing, yelling and screaming at each other and goading the dog into barking as loudly as she can---I decided that it was time to get the dishes done.

Washing dishes is so much fun that I became lost in the bubbly joy of a sinkful of dirty dishes and water hot enough to dissolve my fingerprints away.

Yes.

Yes, there is sarcasm in the above sentence.

At any rate, I lost track of time while doing this most mindless and menial of tasks, and worked away a good forty-five minutes before I realized that I could no longer hear the boys.

Lest you fail to understand the depths of my fear, let me stress: the boys--my boys--were quiet.

Silence from them means cooperation, and this never bodes well for me.

Then, so quietly that I almost couldn't hear them at all, there came...whispering.

This bodes even worse than the silence.

"Boys," I called out, trying not to show my fear through the cracking of my voice (you must never let my boys see your fear--they know fear, and thrive on it). "What are you guys doing in there?"

"Nothing. C'mere, Dad."

"Why?"

"No reason. Just c'mere."

Well, this just keeps getting better and better.

Against my better judgement (I am a dad, and left most of my better judgement by the roadside long ago), I decided to play along and see what they had been getting into.

I left the kitchen, and though I tread lightly, I did not tread lightly enough to prevent falling over the tripwire of thread which now ran along the floor of the dining room.

I had time to realize "Hey, I'm falling..." before I fell into, and snapped through (yes, there was pain involved in this), the five-foot-high web of thread that they had spent the last forty-five minutes weaving, with ninja-like silence, across the open spaces of the dining room.

I found myself lying on the floor, quite entangled in the threads that had wrapped around me as I fell through them.

As I lay there, Blake knelt down and whispered in my ear.

"Dad?"

"Yes, Blake?"

"We set a Spider-Man trap for you."

"Oh. Ow."

The boys found this quite hilarious, and cackled away like the criminally insane fiends they are.

Once I had disentangled myself and managed to get up, I had a talk with the boys about how I'm sure they had fun, and I was certainly happy that they had spent so much time working together, but that this was not necessarily the best way to showcase their creativity.

After all was said and done, we all laughed (it really was funny in retrospect), and went on to enjoy the rest of our Saturday.

You see, I couldn't really be angry at them, because when I was a kid, I did the exact same thing to my dad. In the same room, even.

The only difference being that my dad wasn't doing dishes at the time, he was outside doing something manly like ripping up tree trunks or building a motorcycle or something like that.

And I remember his response being a bit different when I told him I had set the trap. His response was more along the lines of "So you have. And now, you will die."

I'm not going to lie; it hurt. But at the end of the day, it didn't hurt all that much, and gave me some good time with my boys, while triggering memories of the same kinds of fun with my dad, thirty years ago.

It seems I've come full circle.

If nothing else, my boys are learning what they can accomplish if they work together.

And yes, that part scares me.

A lot.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Another Trip to the Circus...

2011-03-01T20:48:00.003-05:00

I took my kids to the circus again recently.

For info on last year's trip, look here.

I know, I know, Bozophobics like me shouldn't go to the circus. It's kinda like someone who's afraid of spiders hanging out at that spider exhibit at the zoo.

Which I avoid at all costs, 'cause I'm afraid of spiders even more than clowns.

However, the kids really enjoy our annual trip to the circus, and every year, I have the same thought: "Clowns have those big, floppy shoes, right? I can outrun someone wearing those things easy. Those painted messengers of death won't even get near me!"

Which is normally correct.

This year, however, one particular clown outsmarted me.

He was on roller skates.

That's right, every time I thought I was safe from that pancake makeup-encrusted servant of darkness, ZOOM!!! There he was. Circling me no matter where we were, awaiting me at every turn, a constant blur of polka-dotted motion, wheeling his way through the crowds, yelling "Welcome to the Circus!" and "Enjoy the show!"

At least that's what the kids told me he was saying. What I heard was more like "I will feast on your eyes" and "More souls for the Master...".

We did manage to escape Wheelie the wereclown long enough to get this really cool pic of the boys with Spider-Man:

*sniff* I didn't get my picture taken...

Then I spent a small fortune on cotton candy and lemonade, and we made our way to the bleachers, where roller skates can't go.

Then the fun began.

The lady sitting next to us was about five years older than me, and yelled and screamed and laughed more than any five-year-old in the crowd.

As the elephant came out and did his tricks, she proclaimed at the top of her lungs, "OH, HOW BEAUTIFUL, JESUS!!! I LOOOOVE ANIMALS, JESUS!!!!"

When the motorcyclists came out and did their admittedly amazing jumps and flips, she let out, "OOOOOOHHHHHH, NOOOOOOOOOOOO-----OH, LOOK,HE MADE IT, JESUS!!!!"

"I LOVE THE CIRCUS, JESUS!!!!"

"I'M HAVING SO MUCH FUN, JESUS!!!!"

Perhaps she was praying throughout the entire circus. Perhaps her boyfriend, the patient-looking man she was with, is named Jesus.

I honestly don't know.

But as the kids watched the show, I found myself watching her. I found her outbursts, enthusiasm, and sheer joy to be rather infectious.

I enjoyed myself more because of her.

I think sometimes that if I could be that excited about something, be the kind of person who doesn't care what others think, the kind of person who just can't sit still or stop laughing because of the plain joy of being alive---

Well, that'd be something, wouldn't it?

I hope she's still having fun, wherever she may be right now.

I suspect she is, and I would certainly love to see her at the circus again next year.

Of course I'll go again next year. I hate clowns, but my boys are worth me having the heebie-jeebies for a while so that they can say "Wasn't that fun?".

Also, next year, I'll be wearing roller skates.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Monster Maker

2011-02-28T17:32:00.001-05:00

Until I get up a larger readership at Second Star to the Right, I'll let you know here when there's something new there.

*Ahem,ahem*

There's something new there.

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Second Star Reborn...

2011-02-22T21:58:00.001-05:00

Well, hello there.

I just wanted to call your attention to my other blog, Second Star to the Right, which is undergoing a bit of a re-purposing.

Please join me and help me to make it an interesting place to visit.

And don't worry; the insanity that you've come to expect from Bradley's Brain will continue.

After all, Blake's only six, so I've got a lot more years of interesting stuff to write about.

And just to be completely random (and because she craves the attention), here's my wonderful, psychotic, if-you-even-look-away-from-your-food-it's-mine dog, Starbuck:

Look how fast I can move my tail!

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Fev'rary Tempf

2011-02-11T20:54:00.000-05:00


Can you tell he's excited?

Blake's birthday was yesterday. He is now six.

If you live anywhere in Kentucky, you're already aware of this fact, as he has been telling everyone about it since last October.

"Trick or Treat!"

"My, aren't you cute?"

"Yep, and I'll be six on Fev'rary tempf!"

On his last birthday, I posted about one of the reasons that he and his brother are so precious to me. I won't go into that again, but if you want to read about it, or re-read it, it's right HERE.

This year, I thought I'd share one of the reasons that living with Blake is such a grand adventure.

Just a couple of weeks ago, on a Saturday morning, I took Starbuck out back for her...business.

On the way in through the back door, I noticed a police cruiser sitting on the street in front of my house.

The kid that lives next door has been in and out of trouble with the police for quite a while, and I just assumed that they were there for him again.

No, that just wouldn't be fun enough.

As I came in through the back door, Hunter yelled "Hey, Dad! There's a cop at the front door!"

I thought that perhaps they were there to ask some questions about the neighbors, even though we've personally never had any real trouble with them.

"Yes, Officer? What can I do for you?"

"Is everything okay here, Sir? We're checking up because we received a 911 hang-up from this address."

"...Oh. Blake?"

"Yeah, Daddy?"

"Did you call the police?"

"Yep."

"Oh. Why?"

"I wanted them to take Hunter to jail 'cause he took some of my toys."

"Ah. I see."

I apologized profusely to the officer, who said that this kind of thing actually happens far more than you would think. She had a little talk with Blake about responsibility, and it was chalked up to one of those "lesson learned" kind of things.

Now he only pretends to call the police on his toy phone:

"Hello, police? Come and take my brother to jail. I'll give you cookies."

This is just one of the many things that Blake does on a regular basis that keeps my life so interesting.

With both of my kids, and Blake in particular, I never know what kind of adventure the day is going to bring or what kinds of tricks they're going to pull.

With Hunter's devious intelligence, and Blake's "Why not, that seems fun" attitude, I'm growing older by the minute.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

I love you, Blake, and I look forward to many more years of being sometimes amused and sometimes terrified by the things you do.
***************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Fun Things My Children Say...

2011-01-26T09:34:00.002-05:00

Me: Blake, stop running in the house!

Blake: Wheeeeee!!!! Zoom!!! Zoom!!!

Starbuck: WOOF!! (I like you! You are the Small Human who drops food often!)

*CRASH!!!!*

Me: Blake, I said stop running around in the house with the dog!

Blake: *makes puppy dog eyes* But Dad, this is fun, and you like me to have fun because you love me, don't you?

Starbuck: BARK!! WOOF!!! (This is true, Big Human Who Takes Me Outside. It is fun because sometimes he has candy in his pockets that falls out, and then it is mine!)

Me: Yes, Blake, I love you, and I like for you to have fun. But there is not enough room in this house for you to run around like that, especially when a big dog like Starbuck is going to run around with you. I need for you to NOT run around the house.

Blake: But I have to, Dad. It's my destiny.

Me: Ah. Well. Carry on, then.

Blake: WHEEEEE!!!! ZOOOOOOMMMMM!!! ZOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMM!!!!!

Starbuck: WOOF!!! ROWR!!! (CANDY!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Me: *Sigh*
******************************

Me: *taking hat off after being out in snow* Ok, boys! Who wants some cereal?

Blake: ME!!! ME!!!!

Me: Hunter, what about you? You want a bowl of cereal?

Hunter: Wow, Dad. You're getting bald.

Me: *happy feelings draining, smile eroding* Hunter, I've been getting bald for a long time now.

Hunter: Yeah, I know. But you're really getting balder. Why are you crying?

Me: I'm not crying, Son. I'm weeping. There's a difference.

Hunter: Oh. Can I have some cereal now?

Starbuck: *running in from other room* WOOF!!!! (Cereal?)

*****************************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Update...

2011-01-23T19:54:00.000-05:00

I haven't been around much lately.

This time, it's not because I've been too busy (although I have been busy just trying to keep up with life).

I've had a serious case of the "blahs" lately, and to be honest, it's been kinda difficult to drum up the motivation to do much of anything.

I'm usually a pretty happy guy, but sometimes things get to me. It's been one of those times lately.

I'll get better; I always do.

I just wanted to let everyone out there know that I'm not dead.

That I know of.
***************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Viruses, Sticks, and Clean Dishes...

2010-12-23T18:38:00.003-05:00

My computer came down with a nasty virus the other day.

It was called "SecurityShield", and is designed to shut down programs on your system, telling you that they are infected with Trojan.worm.backdoor.consume.black-hole-of-despair.death or some such or the other, and would you like to register your copy and clean these infections off of your system for the amazingly low price of $79.95, all major credit cards accepted?

This seems to me the cyberspace equivalent of the unscrupulous rat-catcher who carries around a packet of rodent droppings to scatter in your cabinets while you're not looking:

"All done here, but lemme show ya somethin. You got rats. Big 'uns, too, from the looks of it."

"Oh, um, wow. Can you..."

"Ayuh, I can get rid of 'em for ya, but rodents that size? It'll cost.

"Oh, ayuh, it'll cost..."

Thankfully, my tech-savvy brother was able to get rid of it for me without wiping everything and re-installing my operating system (see, Mom, when he was twelve and I told you not to kill him 'cause someday he'd be worth something, I was right), but it still left me with four days of almost no computer time except for the fifteen minutes or so that I could convince my mother to let me use her computer to check my email.

What to do?

Well, it started me thinking about things I used to do before computers and the internet were in almost every American household (yes, kids, I'm older than the dad-blamed intrawebs), so I dusted off my abacus and sat down for some recreational math.

Ha, ha; just kidding there, kids. We all know that math is evil, and on the list of Fun Things To Do When You Can't Get Online ranks somewhere below "ritual suicide", but above "cleaning toilets".

When I was a kid, way back in the pioneer days of the 1970's and 80's, we went outside and played with sticks a lot. Except they weren't really sticks, they were swords, and all you needed to have fun was enough kids to form opposing armies (of course, if one of those kids was lucky enough to have access to a discarded refrigerator box, well, then your adventures were complete).

My own kids were gone for the week with their mother's parents, and all of the kids I used to play with are long since grown up, so I didn't think it would look right to the neighbors if I went out and played with sticks by myself, so I decided to do some of the other things that needed doing.

Like cleaning the kitchen.

I know what you're thinking; that doesn't sound like fun, and quite frankly, it wasn't, but it had been awhile since I had done the deep-core cleaning that kitchens require every so often, the kind that involves a couple of hours of back-breaking labor that results in:

a. A clean kitchen

b. A rewarding sense of satisfaction at a job well done, and

c. One sore back

Well, now the kitchen was clean and I still had no internet access. I couldn't even write, because I couldn't access Word, and I long ago gave up writing longhand.

So I did some laundry. Then I sat down with my pencils and drew. Then I painted with watercolors a bit.

Over the next four days, I did all kinds of things that didn't require a wi-fi connection.

Most of you are probably wondering what the point of this is, so here you go:

I discovered, during my time of non-connectedness, that life was still happening.
There was still a world outside of the internet, and I have a place in it.

Don't get me wrong; I love being out here in cyberspace, sharing my words with you, and I have met some truly wonderful friends that I wouldn't have met otherwise.

The internet can be a good thing, but it can also make you forget that the world that's been around for millions of years is still going on strong out there.

Use the internet. Enjoy the people you meet here.

But don't forget to turn off the computer and do other things. Every now and again, it's good to be off the grid.

A virus taught me that.

My sore back teaches me that if anything like this happens again: whether the kids are here or not, I'm going outside to play with sticks.
*********************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Seasoned Greetings

2010-12-16T19:42:00.000-05:00

I haven't posted in a couple of weeks; it's been busy.

I haven't had much time for writing either, but I haven't been completely idle.

I have completed my Christmas card for 2010, and thought I would share it with you, my gentle readers:

The next week or so promises to be hectic (as I'm sure it will be for most of you as well) and I'm not sure if I'll be able to post again before Christmas, so I'd like to take this chance to wish you all a very happy holiday season, no matter the holiday you celebrate.
**************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Dragonslayer

2010-11-22T23:52:00.000-05:00

When I was ten years old, I was obsessed with fantasy. What had begun a few years earlier with a second-grade reading of the Chronicles of Narnia quickly led to a two-night reading of The Hobbit (I wouldn't read the rest of Lord of the Rings until a few years later, but by the end of second grade, I was already a denizen of Middle-Earth), which led to the eager reading of the Chronicles of Prydain by Alexander, which led to an equally-greedy consumption of The Tripods Trilogy by John Christopher (all right, strictly speaking, that's a science-fiction trilogy, but it was very influential to my young mind, and so merits a mention here).

I devoured any and every book I could find on mythology, fantasy, and history, leading to my love of swords, sorcery, unicorns, gryffons, trolls, orcs, and of course, dragons.

The point being, I loved this stuff. I couldn't get enough of it (truth be told, I still can't).

Then, in June of 1981, Disney unleashed Dragonslayer.

My ten-year-old mind was blown away.

Dragonslayer tells the story of young Galen Bradwarden, a sorcerer's apprentice who undertakes a mission in his dead master's name.

A mission to exterminate a very old, very nasty dragon named Vermithrax Perjorative, "The Wyrm of Thrace who makes things worse".

Coolest. Dragon. Ever.

Through leagues of travel, betrayal, murder, and love, Bradwarden and his deceased master prove victorious (just in case you haven't seen this movie, I'm not giving anything away).

It's difficult to explain the impact this film had on me. It was the first time I had seen a dragon (outside of animation; thank you, Rankin-Bass, for Smaug) that looked good; the first time I had seen my beloved man-vs-monster fantasy tales brought to such convincing life.

I have watched this film recently, and it is one of the few that truly stands up to my childhood memories of it.

Filmed long before the problems of bringing dragons to life could be solved with cgi, Industrial Light & Magic pioneered a process called go-motion photography to animate its dragon models and puppets, eliminating the herky-jerky crispness of the stop-motion photography that had ruled the industry since the 1930's (don't get me wrong here; I love that unreal, dream-like look of stop-motion, but ILM brought a level of reality to Vermithrax that is as impressive as anything wrought by a computer today).

Dragonslayer is the standard by which I judge dragon movies, and though some have been impressive, so far none have defeated the mighty Vermithrax in my imagination.

If you somehow haven't seen this movie, I encourage you to seek it out. You should be able to find it on DVD for five dollars or under.

If you have seen it, but just haven't seen it for a while, revisit it. You won't be sorry.

It is just as good as you remember.
*************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

2010-11-20T14:30:00.000-05:00

As promised, I've given a little lovin' to my poor, neglected Second Star to the Right.

Won't you please pay a visit and read about:

...dum, dum, dum, dummmmm...

Fear.
**************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

A Thousand Pardons...

2010-11-16T20:47:00.000-05:00

Okay, maybe just one:

Life has been really getting in the way lately (not in a bad way at all; just extremely busy), and my poor blogs are suffering for it.

Tuesday Treasures will be back next week, and Second Star to the Right will be getting more attention from me, too.

So, I'm sorry about my scheduling issues lately, and will be back on track in time for Thanksgiving!

And now for something completely different:

***********************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Trick or Treat--or--Penguin Dancin' On A Train...

2010-11-03T20:40:00.000-04:00

Just thought I'd share some pics of trick-or-treating with my boys. They have proclaimed this year the "best Halloween ever", so I think they enjoyed it.

Without further ado:


Ninja Hunter and SuperBlake


My friend's youngest daughter, Macie

Together with Macie's older sister, Mckenna


My nephew, Asher

Asher bustin' a move after some chocolate

The Ghost Train, before...

...and after

On board the train

Some guy's extremely cool yard

Another cool yard pic

Macie and Mckenna (and my arm) at the "after-party" dinner at McDonald's (this shot was actually taken by Blake)

I have so many other great photos I could share, but these pretty much sum up the fun of the evening.

The neighborhood we went trick-or-treating in was like I remember mine as a child: there were dozens of people walking around, folks were sitting out in their driveways or on on their porches passing out candy, and everywhere the train went, people were shouting "Happy Halloween!"

The only bad part about it was that it came to an end.

Til next year...
***********************

Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Kids, Don't Try This At Home...Ever.

2010-10-20T21:19:00.003-04:00

At the school I work at, snack time is an important part of the day.

Like second-breakfast for hobbits, it is necessary for the kids to have their daily after-lunch-but-before-snack-at-home bit of goodness.

Usually we make offerings of fruit gummies, Goldfish crackers (the snack that smiles back), animal crackers (the taste says "cookie" to me, but that's beside the point), fruit, etc...

These offerings are usually met with acceptance, and a promise to not tear around the room and destroy things for the amount of time it takes to consume said snack. It is a formula that has worked since time immemorial (or at least the beginning of the school year).

Til we (the grown-ups) messed with the formula.

Last Friday, we decided to do something just a bit different: we decided to have a "snack-time cooking adventure".

We discovered that the kids in our class don't take well to adventure.

We had our recipe for Cracker Jacks, a tasty treat that all kids love, right?

Heh.

We have ten kids in our class, and thought it would be fun if they could all participate in the snack-making process, so everyone got to put in a separate ingredient, stir the syrupy mixture that resulted (this is the point where I started getting nervous, but I kept my fears to myself), and they all seemed to enjoy that part of it.

Then came the cooking part.

I placed the bowl containing the goopy, pre-Cracker Jacks...stuff...into the microwave and set it for the time given in the recipe.

So far, so good.

We discovered that we had put the baking soda in one step too early, but that part worked out, 'cause it foamed up really cool, and we got several "ooh's" and "aahhh's" from the still-excited kids.

Then, we poured amounts of the sticky-and-quickly-hardening "candy" into paper sacks of popcorn. After letting the kids shake up their bags, I placed one back into the microwave, because the directions said at this point to "cook again in microwave for one minute". I followed the directions.

That was my mistake.

What came out of the microwave after only twenty-five seconds was a bag of fear that emitted a noxious, gassy smoke, prompting one girl in the class to remind us that she doesn't like fire alarms.

We promptly opened all of the windows, which also gave me a place to dump the horrible first results of our experiment (there was some concern that it would kill any animals which might happen upon it, but I argued that no animal would be stupid enough to eat what we had just wrought).

There was terror in the room now; terror that smelled of charred brown sugar and death.

We forged ahead.

There was enough of the tarry concoction left that we tried a different tack; we put popcorn onto paper plates, heated the candy-stuff just enough to keep it viscous (I love that word), poured it over the popcorn and mixed it up.

The first table to receive the benefits of our wisdom seated four children. As soon as the re-heated Cracker Jack "soup" hit the popcorn at the center of the table, all four chairs scooted away, scattering to the four points of the compass.

"No snack! No snack!" said one child, while another simply proclaimed, "Eeew...". The other two children were apparently terrified beyond the capacity for sound.

Seeing the gossamer strings that formed as the stuff stretched and cooled brought a comment of "I won't eat that! There's hair in it!" at another table.

We did eventually convince the children to try it, by trying it ourselves. I was a bit apprehensive about this, but I had to think of the kids.

We all discovered that, despite its horrid appearance and evil stench, it did, in fact, taste like Cracker Jacks.

Which I don't like very much, but again: beside the point.

Once they tried it, all fear was gone, and the kids descended upon the hapless homemade horror, reducing it to crumbs and little crunchy bits of whatever that Cracker Jack stuff really is.

For the rest of the day, kids from other classes were wondering why they smelled "burnt pancakes", and teachers from all over the school were stopping me to ask "Was...was there something on fire in your room?"

The kids got their snack (we felt bad about terrifying them earlier, so the little hobbits got "second-snack" a bit later), I got a lifetime of memories (once the fear was over, I laughed longer and harder than I have in a long time, and that's saying something, 'cause I laugh a lot), and the school got a new aroma that still haunts the hallway (I suspect that forty years from now, someone will be standing in our classroom saying "Something horrible once happened here...").

We even learned a valuable lesson:

We need to keep a lot more fruit snacks on hand.
**********************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Second Star

2010-10-19T07:52:00.000-04:00

Please join me over at Second Star to the Right, where today I'm welcoming special guest blogger Janice Hardy, who is talking about brainstorming.

And now, I'm off to work.

Woo-hoo!

Another Reminder

2010-10-18T17:12:00.000-04:00

For those of you who don't yet read my writing blog, Second Star to the Right, I hope you'll join me tomorrow in welcoming special guest blogger Janice Hardy as she stops by as part of her whirlwind Blue Fire Blog Tour.

I'll post a link here tomorrow, too, and I hope some of you will find out that you like Second Star, and maybe hang around for a bit.
*****************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Bugs--They're Not Just For Breakfast Anymore...

2010-10-14T17:53:00.001-04:00

There is absolutely nothing to be gained from explaining how I came by this knowledge, so I'll just jump right in there:

Today is National Chocolate-Covered Insect Day.

I'm surprised the kids don't get out of school for this one.

Apparently, this is a big deal.

A google search will pull up many informative websites, dedicated to everything from making sure that your chocolate-coated creepies are farm-raised, to the health benefits of this...interesting...use of chocolate, to taste comparisons--"The mantis has an earthy, nutty after-taste, while the fire ants taste like...fire ants".

I'm sure that somewhere, someone has figured out how many Weight Watchers points a candy-coated centipede is worth.

I've even found a recipe for chocolate scorpions, which pretty much amounts to:

a. Melt chocolate
b. Dip scorpion into chocolate
c. Eat said scorpion

Nothing says lovin better than something that can kill you, dipped in sweetness...

Wait.

Actually, lots of things say lovin better than that.

I mean, come on, they don't even put sprinkles on 'em?!?

Lots of people say they taste like chocolate-covered popcorn.

I think I'll just stick with the popcorn, and say it tastes like bugs.

Although I have to admit, knowing that you can buy big boxes of these things is going to make next Valentine's Day reeeeeaaaally interesting.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Thundarr the Barbarian

2010-10-12T20:45:00.001-04:00

Last week's TT, about the Saturday Morning theme songs, got me to thinking a great deal about some of the old cartoons that made my Saturday mornings so exciting. I've been reliving some of those days in my mind, days when sticks were swords and the patch of woods a couple of blocks from my house was an enchanted (often haunted) forest.

Of course, from the beginning, there was Scooby-Doo. There was Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends. Hong Kong Phooey. Wheelie and the Chopper Gang (I seem to be one of the few that remembers this late 70's treat, but remember it I do). The Tarzan/Lone Ranger Hour. If the phrase "Meanwhile...back at the Hall of Justice" means anything to you, you know there were the SuperFriends.

And from 1980 to 1982, there was Thundarr the Barbarian.

The 80's weren't all bad

Thundarr was a--well, a barbarian--living on the post-apocalyptic Earth of the year 3994. With his companions, the sorceress Princess Ariel and the savage, Wookie-like lion-man, Ookla the Mok, he traveled the world over, facing evil sorcerers and strange mutant monsters.

Actually, the intro to the show sums it all up:

I fell in love with this show immediately. I loved the premise, I loved the characters, and I loved that super-cool, lightsaber-like Sunsword.

I've always been a huge comic book fan, and one of the reasons that this show resonated with me so strongly is that its creators are a veritable who's who of comic book talent: Alex Toth (who also designed Space Ghost, another childhood hero), Jack Kirby (just about everything in the world of comics owes its existence to the King), Steve Gerber (creator of, among other things, Howard the Duck--forget the movie, the comics were great); many other comic book writers, folks responsible for some of the best stories of my youth, contributed to the twenty-one episodes eventually produced. This show felt like a comic book, and I loved it.

Of course, at the time, I didn't know any of the comic book creators involved; it was just a good cartoon that fired my imagination.

This was the first "post-apocalyptic" story that I was exposed to--I didn't discover Mad Max until a few years later when we got cable--and it created a love of the sub-genre that still carries strong.

The series is available on dvd, but I haven't watched it since I was 11 years old, and I really can't say whether it holds up or not.

But that doesn't matter. What matters are my memories of it; the memories of a nine-year-old boy who couldn't get enough of these kinds of stories, who dreamed of adventure.

A boy who has become a 39-year-old man who still dreams of adventure.

It's a part of my childhood, thus it's a part of me.

And "Ookla the Mok" would be a great name for a band.
*****************************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Mars Needs Bread!

2010-10-05T23:44:00.002-04:00

I went to make a sandwich for myself the other day.

Nothing unusual about this; I make and enjoy sandwiches frequently.

This time, things were a little different.

I rolled back the cover of my breadbox, expecting to find a fresh, unopened bag of tasty bread, ready for whatever ingredients I saw fit to deposit on it.

Instead, what I found was an empty bread sack, crumpled up next to every single slice of bread from the loaf, crammed into the breadbox and twisted almost beyond recognition.

Every.

Single.

Slice.

When strange and unusual things happen here, the first thing I usually say is "Blake", and this was no exception.

"Blake," I said. "What happened to the bread?"

"Oh," he replied in a very matter-of-fact tone. "When I took my flying saucer out of the breadbox, it tried to take the bread, and it all fell out."

Ah.

Of course it did.

I admit, I had not yet thought of this possibility.

Apparently, the little plastic Martians that fly around my house in their little plastic flying saucer (which used to be mine, by the way; my kids got most of my coolest old toys) could not find a field of wheat in which to make crop circles and decided to attempt the same feat with wheat bread, but managing only a stale, hardened construction that I call "breadhenge".

I would have called on the vacuum cleaner that is my dog to take care of the mess (I don't believe in the five-second-rule; if food touches the ground, it's forfeit), but Blake felt it more prudent to at least put the bread back in the bread box.

Despite the fact that I never got my sandwich (darn Martians) and had to throw away a full loaf of bread, I remain impressed that Blake actually cleaned up after himself.

This shows, in a roundabout way, that he actually does sometimes listen to me.

I consider this progress.

I now have more bread, but I don't think I'll make a sandwich right now. I'm afraid I'll find that Venusians have abducted my peanut butter.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Toon Tunes

2010-10-04T23:57:00.001-04:00

When I was a kid, Saturday mornings were magic.

Not only was there no school, not only were there mass quantities of sugary cereal, there were those wonderful, wonderful cartoons.

The freedoms and joys of Saturday morning will be covered in another post, but today I'm going to share an album that takes me back to those long-ago animation-fests.

Saturday Morning: Cartoons' Greatest Hits:

Released in 1995, Saturday Morning is a collection of various artists recording covers of their favorite childhood cartoon theme songs.

Some you will recognize, others you've never heard of, but all are good.

This music is just plain fun.

I've owned this CD for fifteen years, and still listen to it regularly.

Here's just a sample:

Spider-Man, by The Ramones (yes, The Ramones):

Popeye, by Face To Face (I'd never heard of them, either, but this is one of my favorites on this CD):

Fat Albert, by Dig:

And The Banana Splits, by Liz Phair and Material Issue:

It's hard to pick songs to show you here, because every song on the album is fun.

I enjoy this album as much now as when I bought it years ago; not only does it bring my childhood to mind, it's just good music in its own right.

I can't listen to this music without feeling good, and my kids love to listen to it, too; Blake often asks for the "Nana Spits" song.

If you're a child of the 70's and/or 80's, like me, you'll enjoy this record (that's what we used to call 'em in the 70's, kids). If you're a bit younger, I think you'll still enjoy the music and overall sense of fun in every song.

Go ahead. Listen to some cartoons.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Welcome Home, Ava

2010-09-30T17:42:00.001-04:00

Every now and again, something happens that is so momentous--so joyous--that it has to be shared.

Today is such a day.

My friends Doug and Jennifer brought home their little girl today; not for the first time...but for the first time.

Ava's been with them as a foster child since January of 2009, and today, after a year and a half of starts, stops, frustrations, and scissors that have been too slow cutting through the legal red tape, her adoption is final.

She's been there; now she's theirs.

Ava worked her way into my heart the first time I met her. She's a wonderful, curly-haired little girl with eyes that shine as bright as her smile, both being made up of equal parts charm, glee, and excitement, with just a dash of mischief thrown in.

See what I mean?

You can't help but respond to that smile with a smile of your own.

She is mighty, in that regard; she has the power to lift you up when you don't feel like being lifted. One day recently I was feeling down, and she offered me her half-eaten Tootsie Roll.

How could I still be down after that?

She is with the parents she deserves, parents that will, and already have, love her unconditionally and unequivocally as the shining star that she is. She now has two older brothers who will love and protect her as much as her parents do.

I remember sitting next to her on the couch at their house one evening, letting her drag a comb through my hair. She took her time, making sure that she left nothing untouched.

"Thank you, Ava," I said when she announced she was done. "Did you make me all pretty?"

"No..." she replied. "I pretty!"

Yes, you are, Ava.

You're beautiful.

And you're home now.

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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Teusday Treasures: Some Movie With Turtles In It...

2010-09-28T08:09:00.000-04:00

By the time the first Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles movie hit theaters in 1990, I had been a Turtle fan for six years.

I'm not talking about the silly, kid-version cartoon (my little brother was obsessed with it, though), or the plethora of Turtle toys (although I did own one each of the four Turtles--I'm a geek, whaddya expect?), I'm talking about the original, black-and-white comic book series from Mirage Studios, first published in 1984.

It was never meant as a serious book; it was a parody of famous comics of the period. However, it evolved into a serious (for the most part), story-driven, grown-up, dark action comic.

And I loved it.

When the cartoon series premiered and then exploded into every kid-run household in America, I thought "Let the kids have their fun with it. I still get to enjoy the books."

When this movie came out in 1990 (a year after I graduated high school), my friends and I were there to see how it compared to our beloved comic books.

I was blown away.

The film holds onto some of the more mature darkness of the original comics, while retaining some of the kid-friendly goofiness that made it so accessible to children. It is a tribute to both the comics, which were there first, and the cartoon, which made the Turtles an international phenomenon.

This movie worked for me on a great many levels: the casting and acting were far above what you would expect of a film based on a cartoon based on a comic book (c'mon, admit it: Elias Koteas as Casey Jones is one of the coolest movie heroes ever). The storylines and themes, as well as its humor, were that sometimes-difficult-to-achieve blend of mature themes easily digested by children.

The animatronic puppets and costumes created by the Jim Henson Creature Shop were exceptional (duh--Jim Henson, folks). During most of this movie, you easily forget that the main characters are, essentially, muppets. Incidentally, this is one of the last projects that Henson personally had his hands in--it was released less than two months before his sudden death in May of that year.

As a long-time fan of martial arts movies (c'mon, I was a kid in the 70's and 80's; Kung Fu Theater was a Sunday afternoon staple), I was impressed by the first-rate fight scene choreography, made all the more impressive when you realize that the performers were wearing cumbersome Turtle costumes while leaping and kicking.

The cast and crew seemed dedicated to making a good movie, and it shows.

One of the reasons I love this movie so much is for the simple reason that it shouldn't have been this good. By all rights, it should have been as stupid and unwatchable as the sequels became (Vanilla Ice?!? Seriously?!?).

But it wasn't. It was solid, entertaining story-telling wrapped up in incredible visuals.

It was, and is, just plain fun.

My kids just watched it for the first time, and have become addicts.

Just like their old man.

Cowabunga, indeed.

******************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Memories of Adventure, and a Biker Cat...

2010-09-25T14:16:00.001-04:00

After Grammy's funeral on Thursday, my brother and I went for a walk on her property, in the woods we played in as kids.

I thought I'd share some of the things that brought me so much adventure and inspiration when I walked there so long ago...

The road to adventure

Stairs to a forgotten nowhere

My own "Wood Between the Worlds"

The old, mysterious flood gate

The gatewall, where I became Indiana Jones

These are just a few of the places to go there; days and weeks of adventure and secret places abound in Grammy's woods.

How could I not be inspired when this was my backyard?

We also got a pretty good pic of my Uncle Tim's cat...


Please put me down...

******************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Grammy's House

2010-09-21T18:30:00.001-04:00

Today's TT almost didn't happen.

I wasn't really in the mood; you see, my Grammy died today.

Grammy was my Dad's mom (my Mom's mom died at the beginning of the summer), and it hurts--a lot--because not only did I love her, but it's kind of like losing another piece of my Dad again.

No, I really wasn't in a very good, sharing mood today, until I started to remember going to Grammy's house as a kid, and I realized: there's my treasure. There's my joy.

From the 1930's until just about a month ago, my Grammy lived in the same farmhouse. My Dad and his four brothers grew up in that house.

Grammy never threw anything away, and I remember my childhood visits to her house being voyages of discovery.

In one room of her dark, spooky basement (a very powerful memory in and of itself) was a huge collection of boy's toys from the 40's, 50's, and 60's. I would spend hours down there, playing with old toys designed to last, being made of metal and wood instead of cheap, easily broken plastic.

Cap pistols that had the look and weight of real, old-West revolvers. Toy cars and trucks that were so heavy, my brother and I actually sustained injuries from hitting each other with them (we're brothers; we're supposed to do that). Rubber-band rifles that shot two-foot-long bands and would leave welts on your victim (again, my brother).

Toys from that era were apparently designed to make kids tougher.

Aside from the basement, I remember huge, home-made country breakfasts and ice cream on hot summer evenings.

Grammy owned a lot of land (it was a working farm when my Dad was little), and I would spend even more hours wandering the fields and woods around her house, letting my imagination go wild.

I became a cowboy. I became a Revolutionary and Civil War soldier. I became Indiana Jones, and the abandoned sheds and foundations of old houses that dotted her property became lost temples containing mountains of treasure and hidden traps galore. I would walk through an empty field and become Jason, fresh off the Argos, or Aragorn, fighting legions of Orcs and living skeletons with sticks that were really swords, slicing their way through the evil monsters I encountered. I became Han Solo on the forest moon of Endor and defeated the Empire countless times.

More often than not, I would return to Grammy's house after these day-long adventures with my pockets full of arrowheads or rusty 19th-century padlocks or dozens of other interesting things I found in the woods, and my Dad and I would sit at her big table and eat ice cream while he told me about some of the treasures he used to find when he was a kid, doing the same things I did.

My Dad taught me to shoot in those fields and woods.

Grammy's house was a great place to be a kid, and I always knew that a visit there would be filled with adventure.

So there are some of my treasures this Tuesday. Treasures that both make the pain of losing Grammy today a little bit sharper and help me feel better.

Grammy had a long, sometimes difficult (she buried two sons, and I hope I never have to know how that feels) but good life. She got to enjoy my kids, and my brother's son.

She loved well, and was well-loved.

Good night, Grammy. I love you.
*********************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Being a Quitter...

2010-09-14T21:26:00.001-04:00

You may have noticed that I missed last week, and I do apologize for that. I got so busy that it was Friday before I realized that Tuesday had come and gone.

This week's installment is a little bit different.

Today I am celebrating being a quitter.

I quit smoking today.

Not for the first time; quitting smoking is relatively easy--staying quit is a different monster altogether.

One of the reasons that I've had so much trouble in the past is that I've always treated it like a habit that needs to be broken.

That's not true: smoking in an addiction, and needs to be treated as you would treat any other chemical dependency. It's no different than an alcoholic who quits drinking, or a heroin addict who fights to get clean.

Another reason I've had trouble, I believe, is that every time before, I've essentially kept it to myself. I've always figured, it's my addiction, I'll fight it on my own.

Which has led to failure. Every time.

Now, I'm standing up and declaring it out loud. I'm screaming from the virtual rooftops, "I AM A QUITTER!!"

I lost my dad because of smoking, and my boys deserve better than for me to put them through that. They need me to be around as long as I can be.

And, selfishly, I have a strong desire to be "not dead".

Hunter and Blake and I just went out to the grill and set fire to my last, almost-full pack.

I'm through. I was a smoker for at least twenty-one years (to be honest, I don't remember how old I was when I started, just that I was a full-blown addict in my senior year of high school), and I am through letting something as stupid as this stupid addiction to this stupid chemical control my life.

I've wasted a great deal of time and money on this stupidity over the years, and quite frankly, I have better things to spend both on.

I'm done being a slave to this.

It will be difficult. Nicotine has ruled my system (and my life) for so long that I don't remember what it was like to be in control of myself.

I guess in that respect, I'm not really quitting. The real "quit" was when I gave myself over to this insanity so long ago.

This isn't my "quit date".

It's my "start date".

I'm going to start being the real me again.

I'm looking forward to finding out what I'm like.
************************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Where Were You?

2010-09-11T15:56:00.000-04:00

My parents' generation asked the question "Where were you when you heard the news" about the day that Kennedy was killed, and most of them could vividly remember the exact moment in history when their world changed.

The world and our perceptions of it clearly changed again on September 11, 2001, and I believe most people who were old enough to be aware of it remember where in their worlds they were when it happened.

Today, nine years later, my memories of that day are clear, yet hazy with the feeling of unreality that still clings.

I was working third shift security at the time, and had stopped at the store on the way home to get stuff to fix breakfast. Hunter was just over a month old, and I was looking forward to spending a relaxing morning with him and his mother.

The checkout clerk told me as she scanned my items, "Turn on the tv when you get home. They just said that a plane hit the World Trade Center."

Wow, I thought. I need to check that out and see what's going on.

When I got home, I told my wife to turn on one of the morning news shows so we could see what was happening.

When I saw the smoke and flames engulfing the WTC, what I had thought was going to be a small, terrible accident transformed into a gigantic, horrifying accident.

Less than two minutes after I sat down to watch, the second plane struck, and I realized, along with the rest of the world, that this was not an accident.

My world-view shattered in that instant, and my memories of the rest of that day are clear but broken and disjointed; they are images caught in reflections on shards of falling glass.

The sense of unreality only deepened as the towers crumbled and fell.

My mind literally could not interpret what it was seeing; it took several moments for reality to break through the clouds of smoke, dust, and ash and drive home that this is not a special effect.

This was reality, and I was seeing thousands of lives ending, snuffed out by hate and stupidity.

My strongest memory, however, is not the planes striking the buildings. My strongest memory is not those buildings crumbling into so many pieces.

My strongest memory is weeping for not only the thousands of lives that were being lost, but for the one life that I held in my hands.

I wept as I held my five-week-old son in my arms, looking at him and thinking, I'm so sorry. What kind of place have I brought you into?

Please, God, let his world be better than this.

Hunter is now nine years old. He has been joined by another life that I hold equally important, his brother, Blake.

It's my responsibility as their father to help them make their world better than this. To help them see past the pages in a history book that September 11, 2001 will be to them; to understand that though it is real, though it changed the world, it does not represent the world. The world is better than this.

Humanity is better than this.

I work hard every day to teach them that even though horrible things happen, life is good. It is full of wonder and joy and laughter.

My boys are with their mother this weekend, and I can't hold Hunter today like I did nine years ago, but that's okay. They're always with me no matter where they are.

I'm man enough to admit that the tears are flowing freely as I write this, tears shed in memory as well as in hope:

Hope that perhaps my sons' inevitable "Where were you" memories will be something good.
*****************************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

This Explains Everything...

2010-09-05T23:56:00.001-04:00

Hunter: "Dad, I like this mask! It fits great!"

Me: "Somehow, I'm not surprised."

Blake: "Look, Dad! I'm as old as you!"

Me: "Ha. Hunter, let me see that pitchfork..."

Tuesday Treasures: Ace, the Bat-Pug

2010-08-31T00:08:00.000-04:00

Once again, I find my planned installment of Tuesday Treasures taking a backseat to something passed on by a friend.

This is what I get for surrounding myself with people who
A. Know how easily amused I am, and
B. Know exactly what kind of stuff so easily amuses me.

This one comes from my friend Mandy.

There is absolutely nothing I can say to make this any funnier, so I'm just going to let you go at it:

I told you.
*******************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Penguin Peril

2010-08-24T17:45:00.000-04:00

I actually had something else planned for today, but then Jaleh from Ex Libris Draconis sent me this, and I realized that I had to use it; I laughed too hard not to.

The whole thing is great, but I really love how the penguin looks over the side of the boat, taunting the killer whales--"Hey, guys, whaddya gonna do now, huh? Got me a boat."

Then he gets his groove on with the ladies--"So, you float around here often? You see me get away from those guys? Pretty cool, huh?"

This was just too funny to not be used today.

Thanks, Jaleh!
************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: A Few Funnies...

2010-08-17T16:50:00.000-04:00

With today being the first day of school (and consequently my first full week back at work), I didn't have time to put together a full post, so I thought I would just leave you a couple of funnies that I first heard on the Dr. Demento radio show years ago.

This first one is by The Frantics, a Canadian comedy troupe. This is the only video I could find that had clear enough audio, and I recommend closing your eyes and listening as though it were on radio. It just seems funnier that way.

Next up is the Smothers Brothers:

And an early "Weird Al" song that you may not have heard:

Tuesday Treasures will make a full comeback next week, but I hope you enjoy the funnies.

**********************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

SF Scrivener Post

2010-08-15T15:59:00.000-04:00

Hey everyone,

I just wanted to let you know that I've posted a dvd review of Paranormal Activity over at The SF Scrivener, a blog created by writing colleague Tim Turner.

Please go check it out, and help me support the community effort that Tim has created for us.

As always,

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

They're Coming To Get You, Barbaraaaaaa....

2010-08-13T19:10:00.000-04:00

If you recognize the title of this post, then you're a fan of a good zombie story.

Friend and fellow writer Lydia Sharp is not only a fan of a good zombie story, she's also the writer of a good zombie story.

A zombie story that has been accepted for publication in an anthology.

To celebrate, Lydia is giving away two signed copies of the anthology, Flesh & Bone, over at her blog (which you should be reading anyway), The Sharp Angle.

I encourage you to help me congratulate her by checking out her rules of entry, and then enter, for Pete's sake!

Not only does she deserve this, it's a chance to win a free book.

And Lydia's story is in it, so it's a good free book.

What are you waiting for?!?

Go!!!

Go now!!!!
****************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Fright Night

2010-08-10T14:56:00.003-04:00

I love horror movies.

Especially vampire movies. If they're well-done, I can't get enough of 'em.

There are many very good ones that I enjoy, but always at the top of my list is Fright Night.

Released in 1985 (good heavens, was I really only fourteen when I saw this?), Fright Night tells the story of Charley Brewster (William Ragsdale), a typical American high school student who discovers that his new neighbor, handsome, sophisticated Jerry Dandridge (Chris Sarandon--Prince Humperdinck and Jack Skellington himself) is a centuries-old vampire.

He attempts to convince his best friend, fellow horror movie buff "Evil" Ed (Stephen Geoffries) and girlfriend Amy (Amanda Bearse, who went on to become Marcy on Married...With Children) that his neighbor is a blood-sucking fiend. Of course, they think he's insane.

To help cure his "delusions", Ed and Amy enlist the help of Charley's idol, Peter Vincent (the always wonderful Roddy McDowell), the aging star of sixties-era, Hammer Horror-like vampire movies. Vincent, who has just been fired from his job as host of a late-night horror-movie tv show called--appropriately enough--Fright Night, readily agrees to be paid to help.

Of course, they eventually become believers, and Dandridge attempts to keep his secret, seeking to make Ed a minion, Amy his bride, and Charley and Peter dead.

Fright Night is a fond tribute to my beloved Hammer Studio horror films of the sixties and the subsequent late-night television shows that kept them alive (both of which I love dearly, and will certainly be future installments of T.T.).

It was followed in 1988 by Fright Night Part 2, which wasn't as good as the first, but still very fun in its own right. The first film is easily found on dvd, but part 2 has been out of print for years, and is very difficult to come by.

In Hollywood's efforts to mine its past successes for inspiration, the inevitable re-make has been announced for an October, 2011 release. While I remain cautiously optimistic about it, it can never replace the original.

After all, they'll never be able to replicate Sarandon's Dandridge, standing at the top of his ornate staircase, mocking the frightened would-be vampire killers:

"Welcome to Fright Night...for real."
*************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Blake

2010-08-03T14:20:00.000-04:00

(Blake is on the right)

Last week, I told you a little bit about Hunter. I was going to wait for Blake's birthday to post about him, but that's not til February, and I couldn't wait that long to tell you about my other most important treasure.

Blake is the polar opposite of his brother; loud where Hunter is quiet, ready to leap where Hunter is cautious.

I read an article several years ago which stated that children who have been born in the past ten years or so will be of the right ages to possibly be part of the first manned missions to Mars.

This demonstrates the differences in my two boys: Hunter would be the one to design the ship, using his intellect to figure out the mechanics of the voyage and how to keep the astronauts alive.

Blake would be the one to strap himself in and blast like a bat out of hell to another world, probably relaying radio messages to his brother the entire way. "I'm almost there, Bubby!"

I celebrate the differences; I can love them both the same while loving them both very differently.

Blake keeps me on my toes. In the past two years, he has:

1. Ridden his bicycle off the edge of a driveway into an empty firewood bin, leading to a week-long hospital stay due to a lacerated kidney. He loved the hospital. The first thing he wanted to do when he got out was "Ride my bike on Poppa's driveway and get hurt again so I can come back here".

2. Maced himself. Okay, it wasn't really Mace, it was one of those generic "Chemical Crime Deterrent Aerosol" keychains that had lain forgotten in the back of a drawer at my mother's house for about fifteen years. I was relieved when I discovered that he had "only maced himself", because I knew how to take care of that, having borne witness to my father and brother macing each other years before, "Just to see what would happen". Yes, it's in the family; Blake comes by it naturally. And a lesson has stuck with him. He cannot say "pepper spray" without a tone of hushed awe and reverence--"Robbers won't break into Mamaw's house because she has...Pepper Spway".

3. Put a nail through his foot because he "wanted to pick the board up with my shoe and twirl it around like a helicopter".

There are many other things that Blake has done over the years that make me want to call the E.R. to give them a heads up whenever he goes outside.

I've mentioned how Hunter is my hero because he helped me save my dad's life.

Blake is my hero, too; he came along a few months after my dad died, and he helped me heal.

I've been accused before of being overly sentimental about both of my children, but I don't see how that's possible. I have been blessed with two extraordinary kids, and I honestly don't know how I would have made it through the trials of the past six years without them. They truly are my most valuable treasures.

Hunter helped save my dad's life.

Blake? He helped save mine.

You're my hero, too, Pal. Just like Big Bubby.

I love you, Blake.
********************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Another Reason to Never Leave The House Again. Ever.

2010-08-02T11:08:00.002-04:00

I've been researching spiders.

Why, you ask?

Easy. Because I hate them, and think the nasty, evil little monsters will make perfect nasty, evil little monsters in a story.

I have been able to overcome (for the most part) my revulsion well enough to read about certain species, I've even been able to see pictures (!) with only a slight shudder, and have only occasionally felt the need to brush off my shoulders to get rid of the spiders which may or may not be there.

Then I came across this:

This is the Chilean rose tarantula.

The picture is quite horrific enough by itself. But it got worse when I read that this spider can blind people by shooting hairs into their eyes.

Perhaps you didn't hear me.

This spider can blind people by SHOOTING HAIRS INTO THEIR EYES!!!!!

I didn't...I didn't know they could do that.

I'm not comfortable with this.

I'm immediately filing this in the "One More Thing To Worry About" folder.

The only thing left to say (besides "Get 'em off me! Get 'em off me!!!) is:

"GAH!!!!"
**************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Hunter

2010-07-27T09:58:00.000-04:00

Today is a very special installment of Tuesday Treasures. It's a happy coincidence because today is Hunter's birthday.

Hunter is nine years old today.

Since July 27, 2001, everything I've done has been for my kids, first Hunter and now Hunter and Blake.

I've already told you about the night I almost lost both of my kids, so I won't go into that here. If you haven't read it, you can see it HERE.

I love both of my sons equally, but Hunter does have the added distinction of being my first child.

He also did something remarkable before he was even born.

My dad was sick. He had been a heavy smoker for over forty years, worked in a machine shop with various fumes and microscopic metal shavings working their way into his lungs, and there's a possibility that he'd had some exposure to Agent Orange while serving in Viet Nam.

My dad was a wonderful man, but he did have his stubborn streaks. His view was "If I go to the doctor, he's just going to tell me I'm dying anyway, so what's the point?"

Shortly after I found out that I would be a father, I sat down with my dad.

"Dad," I said, "I'm going to be a Dad too, now. I need for you to go and see a doctor, because I won't know what I'm doing. I need you. I need for my son to know his Papaw. I don't want him to only know you from pictures."

My dad did go to his doctor. It turns out that, yes, his condition was serious, but not as bad as he'd been afraid of. He quit smoking, took early retirement from work, and was there the day Hunter was born.

The only time in my life I ever saw my dad cry was when he held Hunter for the first time and said, "When I think about how close I came to never seeing him..."

He went on to enjoy three more years of life, and I think they were among three of the best years of his life. He and Hunter were inseparable, and to this day, Hunter has good memories of his Papaw.

Because of Hunter, I had three more years with my dad than I would have. Because of Hunter, my dad had three more years of life than he would have. Hunter was strong enough, even before he was born, to reach out and save my dad's life.

Hunter is my son.

He is my pride, my joy.

He is also my hero.

Happy birthday, Hunter. I love you.
************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Good Taste is Relative...

2010-07-25T18:35:00.000-04:00

I just wanted to share that Blake has discovered "Dr. Frankenpoo's Strange and Unusual Sugar-Free Sour Strawberry Spray Candy".

This stuff is atrocious.

How do I know?

Because Blake takes great delight in saying, "Daddy, try some of my candy spway...it's not sour, I promise," then cackling like an insane fiend when he sprays it onto my tongue and I make "the nasty face", running around and yelling, "Aaaarrgghhhh...it's in my mouth! It's in my mouth!!!!"

I don't have to fake "the nasty face", because this stuff truly is the most horrible example of spray candy (a concept I'm already leery of) that I have ever had the displeasure of sampling. I think he enjoys torturing me with it because it's so nasty that he certainly won't kill his own taste buds with it, no sir, thank you very much.

Why do I allow this torture to continue?

Because I'm willing to do just about anything I can to make my kids laugh. It's musical and precious to me.

Of course, the fact that he gains so much pleasure by tormenting a fellow human being gives me some concern, but that's something to be tackled in a different post.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go scrub my tongue with a Brillo pad and the harshest tequila I can find so I can get that horrible taste out of my mouth.
*********************************************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: the League of S.T.E.A.M.

2010-07-20T15:53:00.001-04:00

I love the Ghostbusters.

And I love steampunk stories and visuals.

So when I discovered Victorian-era, steam-powered ghost and monster hunters, I was entranced.

The League of S.T.E.A.M. (Supernatural and Troublesome Ectoplasmic Apparition Management) is a California-based performance art troupe that specializes in interactive entertainment.

In addition to bookings and live appearances, they have produced a series of web episodes of their adventures which are popular on YouTube and are also available for viewing on their own site, www.leagueofsteam.com.

In a St. Patrick's Day episode, the League attempts to capture a Leprechaun, with very entertaining results:

I delight in this kind of creativity, and it's very obvious in each episode or image you see that these talented individuals love what they do. The fun that they have comes through in every performance.

When supernatural entities are bothering you, whom shall you telegram?

The League of S.T.E.A.M.
***************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Pineapple-y Pencils and a Happy Star, Please...

2010-07-19T20:11:00.001-04:00

The purpose behind this post is two-fold: first, there is another post up at Second Star, and I hope you'll read it after you're done with this one. The other is to say:

My son Hunter is the greatest.

Late last week, I was in kind of a funk. A bunch of things hit at once, and I felt a bit overwhelmed. I'm sure you know the feeling.

Well Hunter comes up to me with his hands behind his back, and says "Dad, to help cheer you up, I made this for you."

Then he presents me with this:

He made me a pencil holder from a pineapple can.

If you can't read it, the star says "Pencil Holder for the Number 1 Dad--from Hunter".

He transformed my attitude in a matter of seconds.

And he put a uniquely "Hunter" spin on it by saying, "It has a cool secret power, Dad. It makes all of your pencils smell pineapple-y..."

I love this kid.
************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

More Second Star

2010-07-15T16:47:00.001-04:00

Hey, folks.

Until I build up a larger reader base at Second Star to the Right, I'll post over here to let you know when something new is over there.

*ahem, ahem*

Something new is over there.

Let me know what you think!
**************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: Disney Ducks

2010-07-13T11:09:00.000-04:00

I grew up with Disney.

Whether it was the films of my youth, such as "The Rescuers", "The Fox and the Hound", or "Escape to Witch Mountain", or those too-few-and-far-between-visits to Disneyland, Disney and its characters helped me populate my childhood with wonder, imagination, and fun.

As much as I loved Mickey, Goofy, and Jake the cat in "The Cat From Outer Space", the cast of characters that I loved the most (a love which I have carried into my adult life) are those wonderful, wonderful ducks.

Of course I love Donald Duck. Who doesn't? His uncontrollable temper and ability to turn the most mundane of situations into a gigantic, destruction-filled disaster still reduce me to a quivering mass of unstoppable laughter.

But what I truly love is Duckberg.

The late Carl Barks was a master story-teller and artist, and over the years, his duck stories in Walt Disney's Comics and Stories created a rich tapestry of connected tales and original characters, such as my personal favorite, Scrooge McDuck.

Barks was able to take cartoon ducks and, by paying attention to detail and story, weave tales that were full of cartoon silliness while being more than cartoon silliness (and I'm not knocking cartoon silliness here; I love this stuff).

The animated series "DuckTales" drew heavily from "Barksian" facts and characters.
Magica DeSpell, Flintheart Glomgold, and Gyro Gearloose are just a few of the characters you may remember from this show that made their first appearances in Barks' comics of the fifties and sixties (Lauchpad McQuack wasn't a Barks character, but I love 'im anyway). Though the show was aimed at children, I thoroughly enjoyed it despite the fact that it aired when I was in high school and "too old for that stuff".

Writer/artist Don Rosa (a fellow Louisville native whom I have had the pleasure of meeting a few times) is internationally known for his Disney Duck stories, most notably his 12-part "The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck", which takes nuggets of information and stories laid down by Barks and weaves them into the tapestry of Scrooge's life between 1877 and 1947 (this story is available in a collected edition, and I encourage you to check it out; not only is it just plain fun, but is an example of exceptional story-telling).

Watching the Donald Duck cartoon "Trick or Treat" is a Halloween tradition at my house. "DuckTales the Movie: Treasure of The Lost Lamp" is a movie I can sit down to watch with my children and know that we'll all be entertained. And of course, I'll always have those wonderful comic stories that started it all for me.

I've said it before, but you'll hear this a lot from me:

I love this stuff.
*******************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Water Wear

2010-07-11T15:32:00.002-04:00

Our pool is temporarily shut down for cleaning (when the Swamp Thing comes out of the pool and says he won't be back til it's clean, I listen).

As a temporary replacement, Blake is playing outside with the hose. He's getting wet, and having fun, so it's all good.

Just a moment ago, I took Starbuck out, and Blake was walking around wearing a Wal-Mart bag filled with water as a back-pack.

"Buddy, what are you doing?"

"Just walking around with a bag of water on my back, Dad."

Ah.

Of course.

Why wouldn't he be?

I never know what's going on in his mind, but I'm always sure that it's something good.

No point to this post other than to illustrate the random strangeness and hilarity that I live with every day.
****************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Second Star

2010-07-10T17:52:00.000-04:00

Just wanted to let you know that my first real post is up at Second Star to the Right.

Since I don't have a big readership over there yet, I thought I'd let you know about it here, and hope you'll check it out.
*************************************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Blog Deux

2010-07-09T09:46:00.000-04:00

In order to control more of the known universe (and feed my megalomania), I have created another blog.

Bradley's Brain will continue to be my random-fun-hey-look-at-that-shiny-thing-check-this-out-you-might-find-it-amusing-merciful-zeus-why-can't-Blake-eat-ANYTHING-without-getting-it-all-over-his-face-and-looking-like-the-Joker-type of blog.

But I needed something more focused, a place where I can go to collect my thoughts and ramblings about the craft of writing.

And so was born Second Star to the Right, a place for me to hang my writer's hat (and please, no witticisms about it actually being a dunce's cap. Ok, maybe just a few.).

I hope you'll continue to check in here for the random stuff, as well as Tim's blog, The SF Scrivener, where I'll soon be contributing reviews.

But check out Second Star to the Right, and help me make it a good place for writers and readers.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Where's Mulder When You Need Him?

2010-07-08T10:18:00.001-04:00

Sixty-three years ago today, the United States military issued a press release that it had recovered the wreckage of a "flying disc" from a ranch near Roswell, New Mexico.

The next day, that statement was retracted, and it was claimed that the wreckage was in fact that of a weather balloon.

And for thirty-one years, no one really cared.

In 1978, however, Major Jesse Marcel, who had been involved with the recovery of the wreckage years earlier, said in an interview that he believed that it had in fact been an alien craft, and that the government was actively suppressing the information.

A UFO-enthusiast Mecca was born.

In the years since, many other people claiming to have inside knowledge of the cover-up have come forward bringing countless theories with them:

Aliens (dead and/or alive, depending on which theory you subscribe to) were also recovered from the site.

Reverse engineering of the alien technology recovered has led to every single modern advancement, from microwave ovens to cell phones to cars powered by water (also suppressed by the government, but that's a completely different post;)).

Some believe that what was really recovered that day was the wreckage of top-secret U.S. or Soviet spy technology, and that's why everything is being covered up.

I don't know what happened that day in Roswell. Is there really a cover-up? It's conceivable; we know the government doesn't always play fast and loose with information.

Did something truly important happen that day, did nothing remarkable at all happen, or is the truth some strange amalgamation of the down-to-earth and the way-out-there?

I don't know, and I'm sure I never really will.

And I don't care.

Because the idea of it all is more fun than anything else.

The Roswell UFO Incident has worked its way into popular culture, influencing countless tv shows, movies, books, comics, etc...

Mega-cultural touchstones such as "The X-Files" wouldn't have existed if not for the Roswell Incident's influence.

Each year, Roswell holds a UFO Festival, and thousands of UFO enthusiasts, ranging from multi-degree scientists who are studying the phenomena all the way to that guy with tinfoil on his head descend on the area to meet, greet, discuss and purchase all things alien and UFO-related.

Some people believe with die-hard ferocity that something from another world crashed at Roswell, and that the government is hiding it.

Some people believe that it really was just a weather balloon.

Me? I don't really know which particular camp to place my tent in, but I can sit back and enjoy the entire spectacle with amusement.

No matter where you stand on the issue, July 8, 1947 is a date that certainly made the world a bit more interesting.

Now, if you'll excuse me, my alien neighbor is firing up his microwave, and if I don't put some tinfoil on my head, he'll be able to control my thoughts.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

I've been interviewed!!!

2010-07-07T13:03:00.001-04:00

Hey, everyone!

I'm being featured today in an author spotlight over at Brandi's blog, Cursings and Musings!

Please go check it out, and stay for a while to check out some of her past posts. Brandi is an amazing writer, and I think you'll like visiting her world.

After she is published (and I have no doubt that she will be), you can join me in saying, "We've been reading her work all along."
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: JibJab

2010-07-06T12:42:00.000-04:00

Have you ever wanted to be in a movie?

Or a Weird Al video?

Well, thanks to JibJab, you can.

Here's an example, starring Blake as Luke Skywalker, Hunter as Han Solo, Starbuck (hey, she's the only girl in our family right now) as Princess Leia, and myself as the cooler-than-anyone-with-that-mustache-has-a-right-to-be Lando Calrissian:

To take full advantage of everything JibJab has to offer (e-cards, more movie parodies, etc...), there is a membership cost of $1 per month, but they offer many things like the above Star Wars movie for free.

You can also put yourself into a Weird Al video for a song called "CNR" about the adventures of actor Charles Nelson Reilly.

And, if it's your thing, you can even see yourself and some friends as Chippendale dancers (I considered this, but the mental scarring to any who viewed it would weigh heavily on my conscience).

Check out www.jibjab.com and make yourself famous!
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

The Fire of a Thousand Suns...

2010-07-05T14:05:00.000-04:00

Some things just beg to be shared.

Like this, a pic of my friend Todd at the cookout at his house yesterday.

Todd is clearly being a responsible adult, by allowing us to tell the children, "Kids, don't ever do anything Todd does. Ever."

What you miss by only seeing this in a still shot is Todd's voice, wafting from the cloud of smoke enveloping his head:

"Um, Guys? It's getting a bit hot here..."

Good times...
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

And she doesn't look a day over 233...

2010-07-04T13:30:00.002-04:00

Happy Independence Day!

First, the funny:

234 years ago today, the United States of America was born when a group of rebels declared independence from England.

The Simpsons are funny, and humor is part of everything I do, but today is a serious day, as well.

I'm a history geek, and colonial/revolutionary-era American history has always been a subject of fascination with me. Studying this part of the past has helped me have a greater understanding of what it is to be free today.

The people that lived on this continent hundreds of years ago were just like we are today. They lived, worked, dreamed, and died.

They didn't want to live, work, dream and die under the rule of an absent king, seated on another continent.

So they did something about it.

It's become almost cliche, but the truth is that freedom isn't free.

Our freedom was secured by men and women who were willing to put their lives on the line. Christi Corbett, in her post "56 Men", helps put a human perspective on those who were willing to pay any price to breathe free.

Maintaining that freedom has not been cheap. Millions of Americans, including my father, have fought to keep freedom alive. Though my father came home, many didn't.
Emily White has a post on her blog that helps remind us of the continuing cost of freedom.

Is America perfect?

No.

But we are free to be imperfect.

While you're enjoying the cookouts, family gatherings, and fireworks today, remember what it has taken for us to get here. We can't afford to take freedom for granted.

The men and women who have fought and died to purchase and maintain our freedom did so for a purpose.

What will you do with your freedom?
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

When was the last time you 8 something?

2010-07-03T14:03:00.000-04:00

Hello, friends.

This is just a quick post to encourage you to visit Janice Hardy's blog, The Other Side of the Story, and enter her contest to win a copy of the new book, Eight Against Reality, a collection which contains one of her short stories.

The short story is an art form (many of today's best-selling authors cut their teeth practicing this art), which needs to be supported that it may continue to thrive.

I'm entering, and I hope you will, too.

If I don't win, I'm going to buy it anyway, not only to help keep short story anthologies alive, but quite simply because I can't wait to read it.

Writers and readers, let's go support this book, so that we can have more like it in the future.
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As always, thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: October Project

2010-06-29T13:48:00.010-04:00

Musically, I listen to just about everything. I'm not fond of country, hip-hop, or R&B, but other than that, I go from Bach to the Beatles, from Mozart to Metallica, and everything in between and beyond.

But one of my favorites will always be October Project.

Their self-titled first album was released in 1993, and their second, Falling Farther In, in 1995.

In 1996, the band split after their contract with Epic was cancelled, and though the core members Emil Adler, Julie Flanders, and Marina Belica have reunited and still make great music together, and former lead vocalist Mary Fahl has had a successful solo career, the true magic happened in the mid-90's when they were together with David Sabatino (guitar/vocals) and Urbano Sanchez (percussion).

Part of my love of these albums is nostalgia. I won't deny that; they were released at a time in my life of which I have many wonderful memories.

But it's more than that: it's fantastic music that touched me, and still touches me today.

I was fortunate enough to see them live on what would become their final tour, and though I have seen big shows in sold-out arenas, this performance remains the best concert experience of my life. A wonderful band, and a small venue with just me and perhaps a hundred other people, enjoying the music in a way that you can't with giant crowds and elaborate stage shows.

Some of their music touches a longing in my soul, tainted with sadness because I have not yet identified what it is I'm longing for.

Though they haven't been together in 14 years, I still love them. For the brief, shining moment of their hour upon the stage, they were mine.

Their two albums still bring me hope, joy, and melancholy.

In a way that "big music" often can't, they make me feel.

I hope you enjoy some of their offerings as well.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Embedding test...

2010-06-24T15:59:00.004-04:00

Hey, Folks.

This post is just a test to see if this aging monkey can figure out enough of this here computer stuff to embed a video.

If it works, here's something fun.

EDIT: Partial success!!!

I at least got the video on here, but don't know how to resize it to make it a bit smaller.

Anyone with some technical know-how out there who can help me figure it out?

Tuesday Treasures: Awwwwkwaaaard...

2010-06-22T12:19:00.007-04:00

Today's installment of Tuesday Treasures comes from my friend Jennifer.

I was going to save this for later, but after looking around the link she sent me, I realized that I absolutely must share this now:

AWKWARD FAMILY PHOTOS

Childhood friends Mike and Doug found an awkward vacation photo in Mike's parents' house. They decided to create a website to share this and other awkward family moments captured on film, and for others to submit and share moments of their family history.

The result is truly a treasure trove of amusement, some awkward "What am I looking at" moments, and even a few outright "GAH!!!" moments.

In some of the photos you'll see on this site, the awkwardness is very up-front. You'll know immediately "What's wrong with this picture?"

Yes, 70's and 80's fashion statements, I'm talking about you.

Others, you need to examine; the awkwardness may be going on in the background.

In the spirit of a "Tuesday Treasures Two-For-One", you can also enjoy the affiliated AWKWARD FAMILY PET PHOTOS site, created after Mike and Doug noticed a great number of family moments involve pets.

As Jennifer said in her e-mail to me "This site made me laugh...awkward laugh, but laugh."

Check out AWKWARD FAMILY PHOTOS and have a nervous laugh or two.

You might even feel a bit better about your own family after you see what else is out there.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Haiku Party at Brandi's...

2010-06-21T14:48:00.004-04:00

My friend and fellow writer,Brandi, is hosting a contest at her blog!

I'm entering, and encourage everyone to visit and enter!

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Why I Love Being Dad...

2010-06-20T13:57:00.004-04:00

First off, happy Father's Day!

Being a Dad is a strange, wonderful, often difficult job, so hats off to all Dads out there.

As for me, I'm just a guy doing the best he can for his kids. I never feel like I deserve any special praise because I'm just doing what comes naturally to me.

So, I thought I'd turn it over to who this day is really about (and why I love being Dad):

That's right, my kids.

Being eaten by birds.

Seriously, without them I wouldn't be Dad. And I can't imagine not being Dad.

They define me as Dad. They bring out the best in me, and allow me to become something far greater than I ever could be on my own. This day truly belongs to them, because without them, I wouldn't--couldn't--be who I am.

Dads, hug your kids today. Let them know how honored you are to be their Dad.

And if you're blessed with two wonderful boys like I am, let 'em know how cool it is that you can carry on entire conversations using nothing but the word "dude".
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Speak Softly And Carry A BIG Torch...

2010-06-17T11:55:00.005-04:00

I don't intend to turn this into a history blog, but some things are just too cool to not mention, and history is a passion of mine, so:

"Liberty Enlightening the World", more commonly known as The Statue of Liberty, arrived in New York harbor on this day in 1885.

Designed by French sculptor Frederic Auguste Bertholdi and given to the American people as a gift from France, she arrived in over 200 packing crates, the world's largest jigsaw puzzle.

She was unpacked and reassembled on Bedloe's Island in New York, with the final rivet fit into place on October 28, 1886 in a dedication ceremony presided over by president Grover Cleveland.

Six years later, adjacent Ellis Island became the main point of entry for immigrants into the United States. For the next three decades, the Statue of Liberty became a sign to millions of immigrants that they had reached America.

A great many of us can flip back the pages of our story in America and find the opening chapters here.

As I said, I'm a history geek, and I file this information under "neat".
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Ups and Downs...

2010-06-16T14:08:00.002-04:00

I just thought I'd mention that America's first roller coaster, known as "Switchback Railway" opened on this day in 1884, at Coney Island.

I love roller coasters (The Beast, at King's Island, is still one of my favorites, both for childhood nostalgia and just being fun), so it seemed appropriate to mention the first.

I now return you to your regularly-scheduled perusal of the Blogiverse.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Tuesday Treasures: The Rocketeer

2010-06-15T12:25:00.004-04:00

Welcome to the first installment of "Tuesday Treasures", where each week I'll be presenting a review of something that I enjoy, and think that you might like as well. Some of these, you may be familiar with. Some, you may not have heard of, and that's the point: to lead you to something you might truly enjoy, but might not have found otherwise.

It won't all be music, books, or movies, but I do love all of those, so it's easy to begin with a movie.

I present:

The Rocketeer.

The Rocketeer was released in 1991 through Disney, and based on a comic book of the same name by the late Dave Stevens.

It follows the adventures of Cliff Secord (Billy Campbell), a pilot in California in 1938. Cliff, his best friend/mechanic Peavy (Alan Arkin), and his girlfriend Jenny (the stunningly beautiful Jennifer Connelly), become embroiled in international espionage when Cliff accidentally finds an experimental rocket pack designed by Howard Hughes (Terry O'Quinn) and stolen by mobster Eddie Valentine (Paul Sorvino) for actor/Nazi spy Neville Sinclair (then-James Bond Timothy Dalton).

This movie can be summed up in one word:

Fun.

I'll add more words:

Pure, unadulterated fun.

Cliff and his friends find themselves pursued by Valentine and Sinclair in a chase that ends with an explosive battle aboard a Nazi zeppelin over the skies of Hollywood.

Directed with flair by Joe Johnston (who will be helming next year's Captain America movie for Marvel Studios), this film is a loving tribute to the sci-fi action serials of the 30's and 40's, the source material that inspired the original comic book.

The Rocketeer was filmed before the advent of computer graphics, forcing the filmmakers to achieve flight the old-fashioned way, with practical, in-camera effects using miniatures and real sets.

Its performance at the box-office did not meet Disney's expectations, and so the contracted sequels that would have made this an Indiana Jones-style adventure trilogy were scrapped, making The Rocketeer a stand-alone film that remains one of my favorites of the past two decades.

When released on VHS it began to gather a cult following of fans who generally refer to themselves as "Finheads".

I can't speak highly enough of this film, as both a brilliant example of translating a comic book to the live-action screen, and as a fun adventure movie on its own merits. The exhilaration Cliff feels on his first flight, as well as the amazement felt by the press and general populace upon his first public appearance are almost tangible, and just one of the reasons that this film deserves much more recognition than it gets.

If you've seen this movie and enjoyed it, I encourage you to revisit it.

If you've never seen it, I encourage you to seek it out. It is available on dvd (though sadly only in a basic, no-special-features edition), and I think you'll enjoy the spirit of fun and adventure that a great many movies of today are lacking.

It is just plain fun and exciting, and Jennifer Connelly is in it.
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If you'd like to be a part of Tuesday Treasures, sharing something you enjoy, please let me know at scratch_1701@yahoo.com. I'd love for this to become a community Treasure Chest.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Of Werewolves and Bunk Beds...

2010-06-14T15:31:00.002-04:00

Man, being a parent is tough.

Allow me to illustrate:

Not long ago, my youngest son, Blake, called me into the room he shares with his brother.

"Daddy," he says. "I had a nightmare that a werewolf was going to drag me under the bed and eat me."

To be fair to him, who among us doesn't have that fear?

Being Daddy, I of course responded with, "Blake, there isn't any werewolf under your bed."

"There isn't? Are you sure? How do you know?"

"Well, Blake, Daddy knows there isn't a werewolf under your bed because werewolves aren't real. They're only in movies and books."

"Oh."

Then, bless his evil little heart, Hunter says from the top bunk:

"Dad, it could've been a real wolf."

This, of course, starts a new round of whimpering from the recently-calmed Blake.

Now, here's my dilemma.

It's difficult sometimes to discipline Hunter for things like this because:

What I said to him was, "Hunter, that's not helping, and you know there aren't any real wolves in our house OR our subdivision. The closest thing to a wolf around here is Starbuck, and she's just a dog."

What I was thinking was more along these lines:

Ooooo...good one, Hunter.

It doesn't make it any easier that, instead of "There's no such thing as werewolves", what was really going through my mind was something like this:

Me: "Blake, no werewolf is going to pull you under the bed."

Blake: "No? Are you sure?"

Me: "Of course I'm sure. Werewolves drag you out the window; they do their eating outside. Night-night!"

Blake: "GAH!"

Obviously, I didn't say this, but it's a part of the same streak of immaturity that once led me to convince my kids that the world used to be in black-and-white and that's why old pictures and movies don't have color. It's color film showing a black-and-white world.

It's hard to be stern with Hunter sometimes because I flash back to when I used to pull tricks like that on MY little brother (My friend Rob's brother, John, taught me so much, and I've never properly thanked him).

The hardest thing about being Dad is just that: resisting myself.

To help illustrate, while I was sitting here typing this, Blake comes in from the pool and says, "Daddy, Hunter just bit me and says that he's a vampire."

Despite the fact that he's in the pool, in the sunlight, and would be on fire, I still think:

Oooo...good one, Hunter.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Goodbye, Gramma

2010-06-09T23:34:00.003-04:00

I just got word that my grandmother died about forty-five minutes ago.

It wasn't unexpected; she'd had heart trouble as far back as I can remember.

My grandmother wasn't always an easy woman to love, but she was my grandmother, and love her I did.

Your pain is over now, Gramma.

Goodbye.

Something New...

2010-06-08T12:22:00.007-04:00

It has come to my attention that my blogging schedule is somewhat...erratic.

A few days of surprisingly frenetic activity, followed and swallowed by epochs of silence.

Well, no more, I say!

In an effort to discipline myself (not like that; get your mind out of the gutter) and get myself onto some form of schedule, I'm implementing "Tuesday Treasures".

Every Tuesday, I'll post a review of something that I enjoy. I won't be limiting this to books, movies, or music (although they will form a large part of this), but quite simply, everything that I find joy in.

There are a number of reasons for this:

1. As I mentioned, I need to be more consistent with updating this blog, and my writing in general. I'm hoping that this will help me be more dedicated and disciplined in all my writing.

2. I want to focus on things that make me happy. Sometimes, life gets to be a bit too much, and by bringing attention to things that make me happy, it can help keep my mind away from the monsters that loom.

3. To share a some of my interests with all of you, and to get to know you better.

That's where you come in.

From time to time, I'll post a guest review, kind of a "Treasure Map" to something YOU enjoy.

Is there something you want to share, something that makes you happy?

It doesn't have to be a book, movie, or music. It can be something as simple as a treasured childhood memory. A story about something funny your kids do. Maybe something as simple as a picture of a monkey riding on a dog:

In short, if it brings a smile to your face, if it makes you feel good and reminds you about how fun life really is, share it.

If you're interested, email me at scratch_1701@yahoo.com and let me know.

I hope to hear from you.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Waxing a bit poetical-like...

2010-06-06T15:16:00.003-04:00

floating

never to sink,
never to swim

drifting

seeing all,
being nothing

flowing

pulled choicelessly
by currents floating drifting flowing

ever to a cold grey sea

a message in a me-shaped bottle
hoping

crying

praying

begging

to be read before
shattering
upon the rocks
of an unhomed shore
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I don't write poetry very often, and I share it even less.

But this sang to me.

Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Both Are Hungry...

2010-05-27T21:29:00.007-04:00

A village elder sat at a telling-fire one night, surrounded by the youth of his tribe. They came to him in the evenings, when the day's work was done, to hear the tales of their people, and to learn from the wisdom of his many winters.

One of the young men asked, "Grandfather, what will you teach us at this telling?"

The elder looked at the faces of the children and young men and women who had gathered around his fire this night. When he had captured the eyes of all present, he began to speak in a voice quiet as the kiss of a spring wind on the trees, but was nonetheless heard by all those who turned their ears to him.

"Each of us, my children, has two wolves that live and war within us.

One wolf is angry and afraid. This wolf meets the rise of the moon with hatred and fear. It seeks to destroy that which it fears, which is all that is. It is hungry, and seeks to consume us from within, til we are hollow and feel only its fear and share its anger and hate. It seeks to devour.

The other wolf is full of life and power. This wolf meets the rise of the moon as the return of a friend, and howls its greeting with cheer. It seeks to share with us the joy of the hunt and the thrill of life. It, too, is hungry, but it seeks to fill us with the life it consumes. It seeks to share its power, and to leave no moment of the day unlived.

One wolf seeks to steal its strength from us.

The other seeks to share its strength with us.

Both war against the other, one seeking to control, the other seeking to share.

Both are strong, and both are hungry."

As the elder stopped speaking, a hush fell over the gathering while the youths pulled the last of his words from the air.

At last, one small boy broke the silence.

"Grandfather," he asked. "Which wolf is stronger? Which wolf will defeat the other?"

Once again, the elder met the eyes of all those gathered before whispering his answer.

"The one that you feed."
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This is not my tale; it is simply my telling of a story that has been told many times before.

It is often attributed to the Cherokee Nation, but similar versions of it have been told in many lores around the world.

I share my re-telling of it with you today because it has special relevance to my life (and the lives of many of those around me, I believe) right now, and it seemed important to share it.

Though I've heard this tale many times, earlier this evening was the first time I truly became aware of which wolf I have been feeding.

I have my brother to thank for this.

Thanks, Drew.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Double Whammy...

2010-05-27T18:05:00.002-04:00

Today's kind of a "blah" day for me.

Ten years ago today, I got married.

Six years ago today, I buried my Dad.

Burying your Dad on your wedding anniversary?

Not fun.

I remember that except for one change, the guys that formed my wedding party were also the pallbearers for my Dad.

For a couple of years, on this day, I still had my anniversary to help balance the painful memory of saying goodbye to my Dad.

Now that the marriage is over, this day is just kinda...double "blah".

I'm not depressed.

Truthfully, I'm not even very down.

I've got the good memories of my life with my Dad and I have the good memories of before my marriage went sour to keep me going.

Like I said, just kinda..."blah".
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

A Long Time Ago...

2010-05-25T19:14:00.005-04:00

Thirty-three years ago today, my world changed forever.

I was only six, so it's not like I had a huge amount of life experience to be changed, but on this day, my world became infinitely larger.

You see, thirty-three years ago today is when this happened:

May 25, 1977, "Star Wars" was unleashed on the world.

My Uncle Doug took me to see it (thanks, Unca Guggie!), and it opened my eyes to a galaxy full of imagination in a way that nothing before could.

I had not yet discovered "The Hobbit", much less LOTR. I had not yet discovered "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe". The original "Clash of the Titans" was still four years away, so my love of mythology and sword-and-sorcery tales was still sleeping undiscovered inside me.

"Star Wars" was literally the biggest thing I had ever seen.

From that moment on, it was "Star Wars" all the time. There were books, bubble-gum cards, comics, sheets, t-shirts, and those wonderful, wonderful toys.

To this day, my mother still complains about having to make black icing for the Darth Vader birthday cake I had the following year.

This was not the "Special Edition", which is the only version some people have ever seen. It was not titled "Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope".

It was "Star Wars".

This was before VCR's (yes, kids, there was a time that we couldn't just watch any movie we wanted to any time we wanted to), and cable tv was still in its infancy, so seeing this in theaters was a BIG deal.

The older kid that lived down the street owned a movie projector, and he bought the two-reel home movie version of "Star Wars". A bunch of us neighborhood kids would go down to his house on warm summer nights and watch the abridged version on a screen in his backyard, the soundtrack playing on a cassette player.

It lit a fire in my imagination that is still going strong. It made me want to tell stories. In fact, the first "story" I ever wrote was "Wookie World", in second grade.

It wasn't very good, but that's not the point.

The point is this: although many other wonderful stories and movies have inspired my interests and fueled my imagination, "Star Wars" will always be the first and the grandest.

My life-long love of science fiction and storytelling can be traced directly back to this day, thirty-three years ago.

Even now, when I see those blue words "A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away", followed by the giant yellow "Star Wars" flying into the screen, accompanied by John Williams' thrilling fanfare, I feel a surge of excitement.

Thirty-three years evaporate away, and I'm six again.

If you can't tell, I love this stuff.

Nothing else has come close.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Look Out, Jet Li: There's a Hunter Behind You...

2010-05-24T22:29:00.009-04:00

My son Hunter is now a senior yellow belt in his Tae Kwon Do class.

I decided to post some pics because I am so very proud of him.

Of course, Blake is very proud, too, and desperately wanted his picture with Bubby:

And of course, here's Hunter hamming it up (I think he may have inherited some of the goofiness and sense of humor that I got from my Dad):

And to be totally random, here's a pic of what looks like a two-headed gosling (posted mostly because I think the description "two-headed gosling" is insanely hilarious):

Beware: one of the heads is aaaangry...

Hunter, it is an honor being your Dad.

I love you.
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Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Laughing, Living, and Falling Through the Roof...

2010-05-23T15:33:00.005-04:00

My Dad died six years ago today.

I have 33 years of memories of my Dad (that's more than a lot of people have, and I'm always grateful that I had my Dad with me for so long), and naturally, today is kind of a reflective day for me.

Just a few random thoughts about my Dad:

Living with my Dad wasn't always easy; he was a man's man who grew up on a farm in the 40's and 50's, and he didn't hesitate to mete out justice when it was deserved. He was also a fair man, and I will admit to fully earning every punishment he brought down.

My Dad was a Vietnam veteran. He didn't talk about it much, but whenever I was tempted to mouth off, I would stop and think "Wait a minute. My father...has killed people. I need to stop talking now."

My brother never did quite get this, but somehow managed to survive into adulthood.

I remember once when my brother was about ten, he and one of his friends made a lot of phone calls to that "Psychic Friends" hotline (I don't remember exactly how much it came up to, but I bought my first car for less. I'm not kidding.), and none of us knew about it until my Dad got the phone bill.

I had the good fortune to be sitting with my Dad at the table when he opened the bill. He calmly read the contents of each page. Then he quietly got up, walked to the refrigerator, got a beer, and headed to the back door.

"I'm going to go sit out in the garage for a while, son."

"Why, Dad? What's up?"

"I'm going out there so I don't kill the Boy."

Amazing that none of Dionne Warwick's psychic friends warned my brother that "your father will pick up a car and slay you."

Also amazingly, the Boy lived (though the quality of that life was questionable for a while).

I remember once when I was, I think, fifteen. I got home from school, and realized that I had forgotten to take my keys with me that morning, so I was locked out. "No problem," I thought. "I'll just sit here and read, and Dad'll be home in an hour or so."

For some reason, I decided to climb up on the roof of the porch, and do my reading there. I don't know why; I was fifteen and did a lot of stupid things for no apparent reason.

I shimmied up the support column and got onto the roof. My plan of sitting there, peacefully reading, would have worked had it not been for two things:

1. The wood on this section of the porch roof was very old, and

2. I was a very...large...kid.

I was taking a step when one leg went through, and I couldn't get the leverage to get unstuck, so I sat there for an hour and a half, my left leg stretched out before me, my right leg dangling through the newly-formed hole, a Nike-clad pinata just waiting for someone to come along with a stick.

When my Dad got home, he stopped and looked up at me from the sidewalk in front of the house.

"Having *snicker* some problems, Son? *chortle*"

"Don't laugh, Dad. This isn't funny."

"Oh, it's funny from down here. Believe me, Son, I'm not laughing with you..."

He then walked over and poked my leg. It had fallen asleep long before, and the movement caused a wave of pins and needles to race up and down my poor, defenseless appendage.

I could hear his peculiar, infectious cackle (hee-hee-hee-SNORT-hee-hee-hee-SNORT) trailing behind him as he went to the garage to get the ladder and rescue me.

I'm laughing as I write this, because that's what I remember most about my Dad.

Laughter. Lots of it.

I didn't inherit his cooking skills (not completely; I'm good, and I can turn a mean flapjack, but as my friend Rob says, "No one made pancakes like your Dad."), and I didn't inherit any money or cars or anything like that.

My Dad left me his laugh.

When something strikes me as funny (and being me, something strikes me as funny every day, folks), I let out my Dad's hee-hee-hee-SNORT.

It's a priceless gift, this laugh, along with the desire and ability to share it with others, like my Dad did.

Today isn't a day for mourning my Dad's death.

Today is a day for celebrating my Dad's life.

People are born, and people die; everything else comes in between.

My Dad had a good "in between".

I hope you've had a chuckle or two while reading this, because that means, even though he's been gone for six years now, my Dad is still making people laugh.

He'd like that.
***************

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Blog Bling

2010-05-16T21:56:00.009-04:00

Thanks to my new friend Ashley, I have another prestigious award with which to decorate the ramblings of my brain.

First of all, thank you very much! It's always good to know that folks are enjoying the scraps of thoughts that my clumsy fingers manage to stitch onto the screen.

Now, to the Nitty and the Gritty, not necessarily in that order.

The first part of the process is for me to list ten things that make me happy, so here we go:

1. My sons, Hunter and Blake. God has blessed me with two wonderful, loving, laughing children. Their intelligence, sense of wonder, and outright fearlessness (except for werewolves, and let's be honest, they scare all of us) both keeps me young and makes me so very old. I almost lost them once, and I thank God for them and enjoy them every day.

2. Monkeys. C'mon, you knew that one was coming. Nothing says comedy like our simian cousins. One of the few things I ever wanted out of life was for monkeys with blue tuxes and roller skates to usher my wedding. This did not happen. I am no longer married. You do the math. Of course, if I ever get married again, I am willing to give this up. I have matured, you see, and now realize that a far more worthy goal is to have my own island resort, staffed by monkeys with tuxes (I'm not giving that part up; monkeys + clothing = hilarity) to bring me drinks, and juggle flaming bowling pins when I get bored.

3. Music. I listen to everything from Mozart to Metallica. October Project is a personal favorite of mine, and though they haven't been together for over a decade, their two albums are treasures that still brighten my days. Their lead vocalist, Mary Fahl, went on to a brilliant solo career.

4. Star Wars. Yes, I'm a geek, and I love every minute of it. I saw Star Wars in 1977, when I was six, and it was the biggest thing I had ever seen. It started me on my life-long love of science fiction and fantasy, and helped inspire my goal of becoming a professional writer. I loves me some Star Trek, too, and there are lots of other quality films and books that inspire me, but Star Wars will always be the first and biggest.

5. Wasted days. A chilly, rainy day spent indoors reading (or just doing whatever it is I feel like doing) is a boon to the soul.

6. The art of Arthur Rackham. You've seen his art, you probably just don't realize it.

7. Stuff like this. I can't help it; it makes me laugh every time I see it.

8. That moment of excitement and joy that comes when you get a great idea for a story, or when you break through with a bit you've been having trouble with. That burst of creativity is one of the main reasons I love telling stories.

9. The folks at the sci-fi/fantasy forums at Writer's Digest. Not only have I learned a great deal about honing my craft from the amazingly talented writers who frequent the forums, I consider them friends, and value the sense of community I found there.

10. A quiet, starlit night.

I'm supposed to pass this on to five others whose blogs I enjoy, so here we go, in no particular order:

Nicole--a relatively new acquaintance, I've come to enjoy her story-telling and her voice.
Amber--Amber is going to Korea soon, and will be posting the experience on her blog. I look forward to vicariously visiting another country.
Mr. Door Tree--I'm a big comic book fan (surprising, innit?)as well as many other types of illustrative story-telling, and this blog has been a fountain of wonder.
Brandi--Quite honestly, one of the best writers I've had the pleasure of meeting.
Kim--Kim is a wonderful, caring person, and I enjoy her views on life and literature. Plus, she has the word "dystopian" in her blog heading, and that's just cool.

There are several other folks I would like to mention, but most of them have already been given this award by someone else, plus I could only pick five.

So now you know a little bit more about me and the things that make me happy. Some of you may find this interesting, some may find it disturbing.

But I hope it makes most of you happy.
**************************************
Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Site Review--The Haunted Studio

2010-04-22T18:07:00.012-04:00

When I was a child, Halloween was magical.

It was never about the candy (ok, never entirely about the candy), but more about the general excitement of the season.

I welcomed the chill in the air, and the skeletal sound of dry leaves scraping across the street.

I’ve always loved all things spooky, and the idea of a night set aside for monsters and witches and ghosts and ghouls to walk their mayhem through the streets lit a fire in my imagination that still burns.

I loved the costumes and pretending to be a creature of the night, something so much bigger, so much more than what I had to be for the other 364 nights of the year.

In fact, the only problem I ever had with Halloween night is that inevitably, the monsters went back into the woods, the witches emptied their cauldrons, and the ghosts were laid to rest for another year. It always came to an end.

Until now.

At The Haunted Studio, Halloween lives year ‘round.

Visit www.hauntedstudio.com, and you’ll see what I mean.

Artist Lewis Lehrman creates “haunted art”, and when I first stumbled upon his site, I was amazed at how he had woven the Halloween of my youth into his paintings.

His work is spooky and whimsical, never overly scary or threatening, and captures the spirit and sense of sheer fun of Halloween that I remember from my youth and now share with my children.

Every painting tells a story, and I’ve found more than a little inspiration for short stories of my own while visiting his galleries.

The Haunted Studio helps keep the chill in the air even at the height of summer, and I visit the gallery often. When looking through Mr.Lehrman’s wonderful art, I can almost feel the bite in the air, and I can almost smell the leaves burning in a barrel down the street.

Sometimes I wonder what might be behind me, looking over my shoulder, sharing my ghosts of Halloween past.

I encourage you to visit him at www.hauntedstudio.com, and experience it for yourself.

Perhaps you’ll find an image or two that have been haunting your own dreams.

While you’re there, sign up for his free monthly newsletter, “The Halloweenist”, where you can get updates on his newest projects (including how you can commission a haunted portrait of your own home), solve a riddle or two, or perhaps take home some of the spooks you’ll meet there.

I think you’ll enjoy it.
------------------------

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Dad's Day

2010-03-28T15:11:00.004-04:00

Today, March 28, is my Dad's birthday.

He would have been 66 today.

I lost my Dad almost six years ago, and it still hasn't fully sunk in yet.

I wonder if it ever truly will.

I still sometimes think, "Man, Dad will love this movie, I gotta tell him about it."

And then I remember he's gone.

I still sometimes think, "I need to ask Dad how to do this; he'll know."

And then I remember he can't help me anymore.

No more advice, no more jokes, no more exploding cigarettes (I still laugh when I remember him sitting at the table with a dazed expression on his face, little scraps of paper and tobacco still falling out of the air), no more late-night Westerns while we have fried oysters and beer.

But then I remember that my Dad does help me, every day.

The things he taught me are still with me.

My Dad was a Vietnam veteran, and he taught me that when a fight is unavoidable, you stand up and fight for the things worth believing in.

He was man enough to know when not to fight.

He was man enough to cry when his first grandson (the only grandchild he'd ever know) was born.

My Dad taught me to laugh. He had an infectious laugh; when something struck him funny, everyone who was with him ended up laughing, too. No matter what kind of mood they were in.

My Dad taught me to work hard, but he also taught me the importance and sheer joy of goofing off and making other people laugh.

It may never truly sink in that my Dad is gone, and that's ok.

I don't think it's supposed to, and I don't really want it to.

His presence is still very vivid and real to me; not only when I remember the lessons he taught me, or the laughter that he gave me and told me to share, but also when I look at my sons and see that he is very much alive in them.

Dad, I'll always miss you, always. But I'm glad that you're not sick anymore, and it helps when I realize that you may not be here anymore, but you're not gone.

Not in the ways that really matter.

I love you, Dad.

Happy birthday.

Myths, Monsters, and More...

2010-03-22T19:49:00.004-04:00

This is just a quick post to invite everyone to join us at the Writer's Digest forums for a contest.

You do need to be a member, but don't fret: if you're not already, it's free, and you can register here.

Once you register, scroll down the forums page to Sci-Fi/Fantasy under Critique Central.

The theme for this contest is mythological creatures, and you can find the rules posted in the forum thread.

Please come and contribute (we loves us some new blood), or just come to read and vote.

Or just come to read.

Once you're there, explore a little. I've posted some stuff to read, and many others far more talented than I am have put up some wonderful tales.

Plus, it's just a fun place to hang out.

Hope to see you there!

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Over WHAT Hill?!? I don't remember a hill...

2010-03-13T00:39:00.000-05:00

Today is my birthday.

I'm thirty-nine today.

That's right, kids:

I'm older than Star Wars.

It's true. "What?!?" you say. "Before Star Wars? What did you do?!?"

Not much.

Life before Star Wars was very dull, and we played with sticks a lot.

But that's beside the point.

I'm old enough that, when I get up and walk across the room, it sounds like someone is making popcorn.

I'm old enough that my baby brother turned 30 just a few days ago.

I'm old enough to remember when "I have four bars" meant "I have more candy than you".

I'm old enough to remember when, if you wanted to talk on the phone while walking down the street, you needed a reeeaally long cord.

I'm old enough to remember when the pinnacle of video game technology was the Atari 2600: "Feel the excitement as you move your colored blip amongst differently colored blips! It beeps, kids!"

I'm old enough to remember pre-cable tv, which was a coat hanger (they used to be made of metal) stuck into the broken antenna part of the 13-inch black-and-white tv (this was before the world was in color) that you had to constantly move around so that you could get a decent picture. Even after you got it balanced just right, afraid to breathe so that you wouldn't mess it up again, and added just enough aluminum foil (useful for so much more than just leftovers) to increase the reception, you still couldn't tell Godzilla from Shirley Temple.

I'm old enough to know who Shirley Temple is.

I'm old enough to remember when G.I.Joe was a foot tall, and his vehicle accessories were roughly the size of a Volkswagen Beetle.

I'm old enough to remember when you could still buy a new Volkswagen Beetle.

I'm old enough to remember when Bugs Bunny was on every Saturday Morning.

I'm old enough that Lou Ferrigno will ALWAYS be The Hulk.

I'm old enough to remember watching the original Battlestar Galactica when it was first broadcast (in 13-inch, black-and-white glory).

I'm old enough to remember when music stores sold records (those big, black cd's).

I'm old enough to remember playing Ghost in the Graveyard (for those of you not in the know, think flashlight tag without the flashlights).

I'm old enough to remember when it was actually safe to play outside.

I know I'm starting to sound like my dad here, but I remember when one dollar could buy me a candy bar, a Coke (pre-Classic), and two--two!!-- comic books.

But as many things as I can look back and remember, I know that there are that many more things to look forward to.

Kieth Richards (you know, the Rolling Stones? *sigh* All right: Johnny Depp's dad in Pirates of the Carribean) said, "Getting old is fascinating. The older I get, the older I want to get."

God willing, I want another thirty-nine years. Or more.

I may be starting to tip over the hill.

But my life is a roller coaster, and downhill's the best part.

Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad

Time Is Fleeting (Madness takes its toll)

2010-02-27T13:00:00.003-05:00

Where does the time go?

Or, more appropriately, where does it come from?

I'm a writer, and if I ever hope to succeed as one, I need time to write.

I may not have much of a life, but what little I have also requires a great deal of time.

I'm a single dad, and my days can pretty much be summed up as follows:

Wake up (for the most part).

Get kids up.

Get kids fed.

Get kids dressed.

Get kids to school/day care.

Go to work.

Leave work.

Pick up kids.

Get kids home.

Feed kids (this one is kinda important).

Bathe kids (see above).

Be dad (most important of all).

Get kids to bed.

Sit down to write.

Get kids back into bed.

Sit down to try and write.

Get kids back into bed.

Sit down again.

Realize that my kids are not going to stay in bed, much less sleep.

Weep profusely.

Wake up in front of computer the next morning and start the excitement all over again.
---------

Which presents the problem:

Where does the time to write come from?

I end up writing in stolen moments, those little scraps of time between breaths. Ideas, story elements, and sometimes entire conversations are written down in the notebook I keep with me, on receipts or envelopes, sometimes on the back of Hunter's old homework papers. I've discovered that toilet paper (oops...I mean bathroom tissue)is very difficult to write on and even harder to read from. More than a few ideas have literally gone down the drain.

When I finally do have the time to sit down and write, I stitch those little scraps of time together into a whole. A scene which takes mere moments in storytime may represent a year's worth of fragmentary moments woven together.

It works. Not as well as I'd like, but it works, and unless someone comes up with a way that I really can save time in a bottle, stolen moments are all I have.

To all you other writers out there, I'm curious:

Where do you steal your time from?

We all have lives to lead. Some of us have more available time than others, but we all need to have time to write.

Of course, I'll understand if you don't have the time to answer.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

An Award? For Me?!? Woo-Hoo!!

2010-02-16T15:56:00.005-05:00

First of all, many thanks to Jaleh for this nomination and for reading the rantings of my mind.

From what I understand, I need to pass this along to a few others whose work I consider noteworthy, and then come up with a list of ten "unusual"(now there's a loaded word) things about myself. Here goes...

Lydia and Joe--Your writing tips and insights have proven invaluable, and though we've never actually met, I consider you friends(actually, that goes for everyone on this list).

Kaycee--Your "Site of the Week" is informative and fun.

Kim--Your honesty in discussing your life and your writing is valued and important.

Brandi--I just plain love reading your writing.

Liz--I know you've been nominated very recently, but hey, I enjoy reading your writing about writing.

Tim--I haven't known you that long, but your intelligence is obvious in your postings, and without your site, the words "Thou beslubbering, toad-sotted pignut" would be meaningless.

Now, let's see. Ten unusual things...

1. I often think that the only reason my children love me is because I sometimes (not often, mind you, but sometimes) say "Yes. Yes, you can have cookies for breakfast."

2. I don't dance. I don't have the coordination for it, and even if I try to do the "White Man Overbite", it ends up looking like the "Why is that fat man impersonating a beached whale?". On the few occasions I have, it ends up like this.

3. I still love super-hero comics. No matter how many people look down on them and think they're just for kids, I love 'em. Always have, always will.

4. I've never been to a Ren Fair or a sci-fi convention, but would absolutely love to go.

5. I believe the donut to be a perfect food.

6. I sometimes stay up after I put the kids to bed just so I can play with their toys without sharing.

7. One of my biggest role models is Homer Simpson.

8. While I often refer to myself as "fat" and "bald", the truth is I'm merely "husky" and "balding", but that just doesn't sound as funny.

9. I believe that if Yoda said it, you can live by it.

10.Coming up with ten things to say about myself is a lot harder than it seems...

Thank you all for tuning in so far, and I hope you'll keep coming back.

Once again,
Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Five Years and Counting...

2010-02-10T21:56:00.005-05:00

Five years doesn't seem like so long a time, does it?

I mean, in the grand scheme of things, five years is nothing. It doesn't even register on the cosmic clock.

And yet, on Blake's fifth birthday, I can't seem to remember a time when he wasn't here.

And I am so truly grateful that he is.

Because a little bit over four years ago, I almost lost him and his brother.

December 19th, 2005, my wife and kids were on the way home from visiting me in the office where I worked at the time when they were struck head-on by a drunk driver.

I got the call at the office about twenty minutes after they left; they were hit about a half-mile away.

When I got to the scene of the accident and saw the giant wad of crumpled blue paper that used to be my car, I was certain that my family was dead.

Fortunately, they weren't, but that doesn't make the eternity of terror I felt in those few seconds any less real.

The rest of that night was spent in what I can only describe as a "vivid fog", where everything seemed hazy and unreal, yet stands out in my memory with chilling clarity.

My wife lay on the side of the road, surrounded by EMT and police, and her cries of agony in a darkness puncuated by flashing red and blue lights will stay with me for the rest of my life.

My oldest son, Hunter, who was four at the time, was strapped to a stretcher being loaded into the ambulance. His head was immobilized by a strap, but he turned his eyes to me and said, without a tear, "Dad, someone broke our car."

Blake was barely ten months old, and still buckled into his car seat. He wasn't crying, he was only whimpering in an "I don't like this" kind of way.

Amazingly, both boys suffered only mild abrasions and bruises. They were released from the hospital four hours later.

Their mother spent the next ten months in a wheelchair, but did dance again.

Now, four years later, the marraige is over.

But I still have my boys.

That night comes back to me every so often, especially on July 27th, Hunter's birthday, and today, February 10th.

The day Blake turns five.

Five years doesn't seem like so long a time, does it?

But it's a lifetime.

It's his lifetime, and I cherish each and every moment of it.

Happy birthday, Blake.

Daddy loves you.

Peanuts, popcorn, and--GAH! GET THAT THING AWAY FROM ME!!!

2010-02-07T16:30:00.000-05:00

The follwing exchange took place at the circus on Saturday:

HUNTER: Dad, why do you have your telephoto lens out?

DAD: Well, son, you said you wanted your picture taken with the clown, right?

H: Yeah...

D: That's fine, but I'm not going anywhere near that thing.

H: Dad, it's just a guy in make-up and a costume.

D: I know that. Now go stand next to the nice Evil Painted One and--BLAKE!! GET OFF THE STUNTMAN'S MOTORCYCLE!!!

BLAKE: WHHEEEE!!!! ZOOM!!!!!

H: C'mon, Dad. What is it with you? Why don't you like clowns?

D: Because thirty of them can fit in a Volkswagen. That's not normal. Plus, you
can't see their real faces.

H: You were fine with meeting Iron Man, and you can't see his face at all!

D: He's a hero, son. Big difference. BLAKE!! YOU ARE NOT A FIRE-JUGGLER!! PUT THAT DOWN!!!!

B: FIRE GOOD!!! OW!! HAHA!!!

H: Dad, your own cousin is a clown.

D: That's why we don't visit that side of the family very often.

H: C'mon, Dad. The picture's gonna be better if you stand closer.

D: No, son. My place is here. Away from the monster.

H: Clown, Dad. Clown.

D: Sure, whatever. Now get your brother out of the tiger cage and smile.

B: BIG KITTY!!!
**************************************************************
That's right: I'm Bozophobic.

To those of you who say that clowns aren't creepy, I present the following:

You are wrong.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

Man, Those Ancient Chinese Curses...

2010-02-01T20:12:00.004-05:00

You've heard of the ancient Chinese curse "May you live in interesting times", right?

I've recently taken a look at my world and realized that there must be another, more ancient curse, probably Babylonian:

"May you live in times so boring that you want to poke your own eyes with a stick simply because it's something to do."

"May you live in days so dull that you want to paint something that doesn't need painting just to watch it dry."

Yes, I know that's two curses, but I think that whoever made them up must have had the same problem that I face:

My life is exceptionally dull (Shut up, Rob).

I got a hair cut yesterday, and was remarkably excited about it. Those of you who know me well (Yes, Rob, again I'm typing at you) are probably coming up with pithy responses like, "Looks like they took a bit too much off the hairline", which I mention here because I'm so very bored and that amuses me.

I sometimes feel like my profile name on Facebook should be, "Move along, folks; nothing to see here".

Then I realize that my oldest son is so scarily smart that he could probably MacGuyver a nuclear accelerator out of potato chips and a soda can. And duct tape.

Then I realize that in the past two years, my youngest son has not only put himself into a week-long stay in the hospital by driving his bike off the edge of his grandfather's driveway, but also caused me to say (to quote Dave Barry, I am not making this up), "Thank God he only maced himself".

When I think about these two children growing up together and the trail of wreckage they will leave behind them, not only am I no longer bored, I'm actually looking forward to the carnage.

Bored? Heck, no:

I'm a dad.

'Course, I'm also terrified to go to sleep when the boys are home, but that's the price you pay.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

'Tis the Season...

2010-01-21T10:21:00.003-05:00

I noticed something a few weeks ago that's been on my mind a bit lately.

I went to the grocery store to get some last minute party stuff for New Year's Eve, and after fighting through the mass of other procrastinating fools, getting in line, realizing that I'd forgotten something else, getting out of line, going back to the scarily depleted dairy cooler, and finding my way back into a new, longer line I noticed something odd.

In a bright, cheery display, right in front of the check-out lanes, was Easter Candy.

Easter Candy.

On New Year's Eve.

I realize that Easter is a "floating" holiday, but I didn't think it could float to another year.

Usually, Valentine's Day (or as I call it, Black Sunday) candy is on the shelves first, because, let's face it, Valentine's Day comes before Easter.

Usually.

At times like these, I remember my Weird Uncle Fred, who was never too busy to stop everything and say, "Go get me another beer."

Another thing that Weird Uncle Fred used to say was, "If the stores are gonna keep putting out holiday stuff whenever they want to, we should just have holidays whenever WE want to."

Seeing 2010's Easter candy out before the end of 2009 made me realize that Weird Uncle Fred was on to something.

I will no longer bow down to when corporate America says we should celebrate meaningful days. I am captain of my own destiny, and will celebrate things as I wish.

Christmas will now be held twice a year (I know the kids'll love this one), in July and December.

Speaking of July, the Fourth of July will now be held on March 13 (mostly I just like the idea of blowing stuff up on my birthday).

New Year's will be whenever I get tired of the current year.

National Talk Like A Pirate Day is also my best friend's daughter's birthday (Hi, Jayna!), so we'll just keep that on Sep. 19th, thank you very much.

Arbor Day will be...

Does anyone still do anything for Arbor Day?

Valentine's Day is cancelled.

I'm working on a list of all the other major and minor holidays and their new dates, but I'll have to finish it later. I'm a little busy just now.

It's almost January 25th, and I have to decorate for Halloween.

Thanks for reading my ranting,

Brad

I Believe Introductions Are In Order

2010-01-13T01:42:00.002-05:00

Hello, I'm Brad, and welcome to my brain.

It's a strange, usually amusing, sometimes disturbing, but always interesting place to visit.

That's for you; I have to live here.

I'll be happy to give you a tour if you'd care to show up from time to time. Truthfully, I'm hoping you will; you see, there are a lot of rooms in here that I haven't been into for quite some time, and I'd enjoy the company as I break through some of the doors that have been boarded up.

I'm a writer, so many of these rooms are dedicated to storytelling.

I'm a father, so many more of these rooms belong to my children.

Some of these rooms are just filled up with the stuff that one collects while living his way through the world.

One room still holds a long-ago Saturday morning that I'll tell you about soon.

Not all of the rooms are clean and bright, but I'm by nature a happy person, so most of them are. Or at least they have generous applications of air-freshener to mask anything...unsavory.

I'll ask you to wipe your feet before you come in (help me keep it clean in here, please), not to sit in the comfy-looking chair in front of the window (that's my Dad's chair--he doesn't live here anymore, but he still spends a lot of time here, and I like to keep his chair open), and most importantly, to enjoy yourself.

If you like it here, let me know. I'm always opening up new rooms, and it's good to have pictures of friends to keep things bright and sunny.

I hope you'll come back often, or at least every now and again. I think we'll have a good time together, exploring all of these rooms.

And maybe, just maybe, we'll learn a thing or two along the way.

Thanks for reading my ranting,
Brad